Revelation 25

It's official. I'm shallow.

I used to believe the likes of The Truth About Cats & Dogs, which, of course, is a twist on Roxanne, which, of course, is a twist on Cyrano de Bergerac.

Obviously i identify with Janeane Garofalo - short, brunette, quick-witted, falls thru the cracks. No guy would pick Garofalo over Uma Thurman. That's just preposterous. But for the longest time a teensy piece of me chose to believe that could happen.

And now i've become someone who won't go for a big-nosed poet. No matter how amazingly he might write, or how adoring he may seem.

In my last post, i mused that i'm a loner for no valid reason. Now i suspect the inclination has been reinforced by growing cynicism. If you don't believe, you can't be disappointed. While pushing others away may feel like weaving a safety net, it's self-sabotage in essence. And that subconscious effort goes way beyond romantic prospects.

Self-psychoanalysis hurts my head.