We talked for a while, later, about reasons and excuses and justifications. For what we were doing. For what we'd done. For what we would, in all likelihood, do again before sleep took us. But mostly, we didn't really talk. She spoke while I listened, or I spoke while she listened. It was more like a debate than anything else. And our debate had no judge keeping score, except maybe my cat Buddy, who watched us lazily from the top of the chifarobe. I didn't see him taking any notes, though. I'll call it a tie.
This always happens to me. I can never just let myself enjoy simple pleasures. I always have to analyze them, until they're no longer simple, and they're no longer pleasures. My mind tries to jump to the future, but there's nothing there. And I know that I'm on a dead-end road, and I wonder why I'm even bothering.
For WeirdGirl, it's all about the road itself. She gives only passing thought to where it might lead. Wondering and worrying is neither fun nor productive, so she simply doesn't do those things.
Sometimes, I wish I shared her outlook. But I don't. I can't. That's not who I am. I need a destination. Even if it's so far away that I can never reach it in my lifetime, I need to know that it's there. I need to know that there's a point to living.
I forget where I was going with this entry. Probably nowhere. That would be fitting, I suppose.