Sometimes I complain.

Sometimes I just feel sorry for myself.

Sometimes I am so self-absorbed, so self-centered, so preoccupied with myself and my circumstance that I loose sight of what's important.

Dear Reader: This article is not meant to be a universal statement of "the difference between men and women," or anything like that. This is not a global proclamation regarding the problems in all marriages. I offer it simply as food for thought.

Narcissism: self-centeredness arising from failure to distinguish the self from external objects…

Blake and Roger had decided on Chinese for lunch. 

One man said it like this:

"Every day, I have this choice to make. Every single day, and it doesn't ever go away. Every day, I must choose to view my life and my accomplishments either one of two ways:

What is love?

The poets have never stopped contemplating it. Song writers write, singers sing, actors act… they write about love, they sing about love, they portray love as best they can.  But mankind still cannot understand its depths.

The stinging chill of the night air cut through my alpaca wind breaker like a Frenchman on a mo-ped, splitting lanes through rush hour traffic as I reached for another fag.

What's Wrong With Me?

There I was. Standing at the reception desk at the doctor's office, I was locked up. Stumped. I couldn't answer her simple question.

What is it about indecisiveness that I hate so much?

It was never a question, for myself, whether I would one day
     be what, and whom, I wanted to be.
The fact had always stood,
     with opportunities in abundance.
But there that day the questions seemed to proliferate.
What next to do that I hadn't already tried?