Oh, WotC, how can you do this to me?

Ball Lightning...AND Lightning Bolt (!!!!) in the same core set? You're just trying to distract me from those combat phase shenanigans. You hurt me then you make me love you all over again.

Freaking Lightning Bolt. Oh how great it is to be a red mage.

When

will writing be a natural extension of my arms into the virtual dimension and will it feel like parts of my brain extend like antennaes into the screen or will it feel like draining my soul of the obscene humours that lurk in the blood like they though in the 18th century? I seek adve3nture please, don't tease me with idle thoughts been censured and don't mention a venture without the intention of going through with it. I grew with it but then I lapsed past certainty, it's a word to me in an alley whispered into an ear, that instills the fear of the unknown and I know that all that follows is shown to be a daliance unless I can find a phone booth and the Wyld Stallyns.

Taste

is an interesting sense.

I wonder why it evolved--to further motivate us to eat? To poisonous things taste badly, perhaps?

If alcohol is any indication, that's true.

Why

do I waste days like I've got extra to spend?

It's time to mend the divide between my brain and my mind, because I know so many things in my brain that my mind can't seem to divine. My brain knows I don't have the spare seconds to lend to the idle task, but somehow my mind can't master that concept, and wallows in it's fears and self doubts. Not that I should be removing the self from these ideas, but I can't make sense of these diverging ideals. My superego can't seem to weild any authority and it's poor of me to expect that I can just wait it out or gain anything more than self doubt by my evasions and the abrasions on my arms show karma to be alarmingly true. But that doesn't mean that it's my due to be a failure, and it's not like reading braile here, I can see the signs before my eyes and I recognize the lies that circulate in my mind like blood keeping my self doubt alive, but it's hard to derive the source of the knives in my back. Meaning, when did I become a self saboteur and why was I so easily lured into this half conscious life style? 

Fuck this. I'm hungry, I'll think about it later.

Wow

That was difficult.

Sometimes computers are so counter-intuitive. 

Why can't people develop APIs that are as logical as the programming language is?

I guess it requires a different kind of thinking than the coding does.

Maybe?

So

what I was saying was

I can't fathom the depths of the human soul.

Or, at least, the depths of another human's soul.

Like the guy over there working on his computer, bobbing to the music pumping in his earphones like he's at home alone.

What secrets must lie beneath his skin.

This is

a special kind of cowardice. Or maybe there's no such thing. But I'm afraid of the idea that I might be afraid, and I run away from the decisions that I'm forced to make. For the sake of myself I might shelf those fears but I hold them too dear to my heart, and so I start placing my feet backward on the asphalt, until my body follows behind. The lines depicted on the pavement are not merely reflected onto my craven eyeballs, but placed to box in my mind and therefore my body can't pass them. I won't last longer than the mast of a ship in a hurricane, but the one to blame is myself, I just can't seem to get my lower brain to accept the realities that my higher one reognizes all too well. It's a hard sell but it's got to be done and the sun rises black in the sky as the stars outshine the moonlight in your eyes but the time to be metaphoric has passed. It's time for action to follow the words that I've said and not the kind that involves sneakers or the wind, but the kind that shows me triumphing over the my insecurities my living worries my tallest flurries my smallest purities. 

My one last inch of my self will not be mutable but neither will it be inscrutable. 

Crowd pleasing is not easy

unless

your name

is

Weezy.