even as I stand alone

I seem resigned to a bachelors life, even recently I might have gone for something/anything. But now I feel differently. It's a nice feeling, I am missing something in my life, but adding some other person to the equation is hardly the answer. Still I know, deep in my bones, that it is hard to teach an old dog new tricks, and I is old, dawg. So what of it? I would rather have a book full of drawings than some tawdry broad slowing me down.

It would behoove me to travel back in time and undo some shit, it would be grand to not have time to worry, to not have means. I'm bored with being bored. If that is possible. I'm motivated by simple pleasures, I need to reorient my compass.

Warcraft is pissing me off, I have reached the end, and what now... My character is not built to succeed alone, a druid is a utility infielder, not a designated hitter. I need a team to play with. But Mark and Mat are more interested in pvp, I like it, but for fucks sake: I like to win, from time to time, I like a fair game. IT'S A GAME, NOT A LIFE LESSON. I play frickin BG's all day to get good gear, but lose all the time, I'd hate to keep track, probably went something like 1-30 in AB and 1-20 in EOTS this weekend. I'm top 2-3 healer now every bg, but it's not doing anything for me. To play really well I need to be on the ball at all times, no daydreaming.. but it's supposed to be fun... I'm not sure if I'm having fun anymore...

Work is shit too, in that I would rather be elsewhere. It's nice to know I'm leaving.

I see some people's websites of drawings and whatnot and I wish I were them, instead I'm here, masturbating my own feces to copies of guns and ammo.

The weather has been great, the cold is awesome, I can't wait for a few days of -30.

I like to bundle up.

I came, I saw, I got rejected. I'd rather be watercoloring

Watercolour and ink combo is the illest, the freedom of acciden and lack of control in the colour, the exactness of the line afterwards. I should be so lucky...

I want my next romance to be like a watercolour, I want my next lover to be an owl, or an ant, to be consumed by 100 lb cold press and 0.005 staedtler.

I want to walk with her in a river, knee deep.

Remembering the rivers we visited in Calgary, Mark, Etienne and I, the steady force, the water mountain cold, it was the best of a coors light marketing campaign and none of the worst. It was thoreau on a budget, weekender style.

I'd like to carve our names in a felled tree by where human eyes will never see it again, somewhere with ferns and pine needle beds.

An owl, an ant, a bag of trail mix. I would wear a deerstalker with pride in her company.

I am half a man in a world of mask wearing loons, my company is my own. Music in headphones a poor man's birdsong. Work an empty man's chore.

woe is me!

also, I feel pretty good.