Write is Wrong

Originally Posted Saturday, October 12, 2013

Everything I write today is wrong.  I can't string three words together without changing two of them.  I want to tell you how a couple drinks with friends before dinner turned into a night of drinking without dinner.  But I can't.  I think I was drunk.  What I do remember most about the evening is thinking that the only way to meet someone is to go where they are.  Beautiful women were smiling at me without hesitation, I think, but they might have been laughing at me just as easily.  It is not true, though.  They were smiling.  They liked me.  They did not know how shy I am, did not know that I would never introduce myself.  My friends kept missing these open invitations I was receiving somehow. 

"Which one?  That one in the black dress?  No, I didn't see her looking at you.  You think she's pretty? She looks stupid.  You don't really like that one, do you?  Oh. . . you surprise me." 

I did like that one, though.  She had the most attractive quality a woman can have--she seemed to like me.  If she owned her own house, too. . . . Maybe she knew me from long ago, though it couldn't be that long ago or she would be in the womb.  I wish I knew how to talk to women.  I need a phrase, something clever like "hello."  But I don't have it.  Nope.  Not me. 

My head hurts this morning.  I don't know what I want to do.  I know lots of things I don't want to do, but that doesn't help. That is just moving away from.  I need something toward which to proceed. 

Enough rambling.  It is terrible when Write is Wrong.