It's a question of lust
It's a question of trust
It's a question of not letting
What we've built up
Crumble to dust
--- Depeche Mode, "A Question of Lust"
I wasn't going to do music quotes for a while, but the above was just too perfect.
I also have been trying to avoid recording the ups and downs of my social life, since it's fallen into a predictable pattern, but this is one for the books. Spooky and I had plans to go to the bookstore and dinner. She was --- it is to laugh --- going to come pick me up; she even bet me a bar tab she'd be here. Then she had to pay bills. Then her feet hurt. She asked me to pick her up instead. I refused and drove myself to the Hangout to have fun with Friar (and pick up some papers he drew up for me in his capacity as an attorney). She said she'd meet me there. After I'd been there a while, I didn't hear from her, so called. She acted as though she'd been waiting for my call (which was not the original idea), but said that now she knew I was there, she was coming. Not five minutes later, she called back saying she had gotten dressed and started for the car, when she felt woozy and took her temperature and --- million to one shot, you'll agree --- found she had a fever. She asked me drop by on my way home from the Hangout. I said I might, but didn't plan to. Indeed, a few minutes after that she called and said she'd taken NyQuil and was crashing.
Amazing. Just amazing.
Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
Speaking of blind faith, this Reuters headline made me laugh:
"Bush denies spying infringes on privacy"
What next? "Bush denies war kills people"? I mean, by definition, that's what it's for.