Eros: Miss, I’m Sore

I was bemoaning to a friend earlier tonight, what with the major icy weather event we’re having here in Austin, that I seldom get holed up in my house long enough that I connect with my creative drive to produce something artistic. The weather here is just so nice year round (until it is definitely fucking not nice at all) that I never ever want to be cooped up long enough to create. I want to be out elsewhere, possibly near other people, wasting my life.

Gone are the days when I lived where the weather was so shitty for months on end that, to save myself from the gray and cold, I’d burn all the lights and grab an art pad or flip the switches on some music gear or open an editor and write something. Hell, I barely paper-journal anymore.

My Eros is just completely switched off.

What do I do to save it? It’s still there, waiting in hunger. How do I turn it on again?

Lyricosis Is Not Just For Lyrics

I was Today years old when I learned that what I thought was the German word “Stomptisch“, which I inferred was a meet-up where you tell funny stories around a table and slap it in laughter, is actually “Stammtisch“, meaning the table for the regulars of the biergarten, tavern, or restaurant. That’s it. That’s all it means. Table for the regulars.

So, uh, I guess my original mishearing wasn’t that terribly off from the actual word, but Ich bin ein Dummkopf for actually telling people what I thought it meant before I bothered to double-check. So embarrassed. And so angry that nobody called me on it.

I really am full of Scheiss sometimes.

So if someone tells you facts straight to your face and believes them outright to be as true as they tell, should you really trust them? Should you really trust me? I do have a history of believing incorrect things.

Hugs Like a Circular Proof

Had a dream where one of the cast members was this cute girl who followed me as I left towards home from a social event in a field. She started flirting with me. I remember thinking, “I’m a hobbled old troglodyte; what could she possibly see in me? Is this a shakedown for services?”

She knew my thoughts and asked if I had any cash. I wanted to, but also didn’t. Told her I didn’t have money. “Well what about donation apps?” Sorry, no. Don’t do apps. Kept walking away.

Then she pulled back and got aggressive. An X-Acto knife appeared in her hand. I knew I had to defenestrate her and run before her heavy caught me.

Dream ends by the alarm clock.

See? I’ve just proven my own fears with my own dreams! There’s the facts right there! Incontrovertible!


I’m not saying every conversation has to leave me more energized than before, but goddammit, give me something. Hell, I’ll settle for anything better than 50-50.

Are there any platitudes I could recite to myself to improve the quality of my conversations so we energize each other, or should I try improving my numbers by just walking away from the bad ones?

So far, the latter isn’t making me any happier. Just frees up more time to sit in gloom.