A little less than a happy high

I’m wrapped in regrets this morning. It’s hard to pin down precisely what this is all about because there’s just so much rattling around in my skull. Here, I draw a spider’s web of connections not yet seen, tracing back and back and back. Here I wonder how it was that I was cast out into this world so very unprepared. Here I just think on time and what it means and what it could have meant. If I were in a giant robot cartoon, the stock footage segment would have begun and I’d be making unnecessary hand gestures and saying something weird like, "Maximum existential crisis... NOW!!" or, "There is no time but for REFLECTION!!"

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The weird thing is that the cacophony tends to drown itself out if I let it. For me, depression comes not as a result of reflection, but when that reflection is lost within itself, when it becomes the test pattern sound that is the backdrop to all that I do and think. It is the difference between feeling grief and loss and simply internalizing it. In the one case, I am aware, active, and capable of change. In the other, I internalize my failures and begin to believe that it is a natural state of being.

I shared a truth in advertising moment with starboogie this morning. GM has announced that it plans to market the H2 in Russia within the next few months. Their plan is to target (and I quote) "the 'macho' businessman with too much money to burn."

Coincidentally, I got spam this morning from a bunch of folks who I’m guessing would probably drive H2s. Near as I can tell, anyone who run a site that sells drugs, cruise missiles and gay slaves must be Very Bad Men^TM. Like bad to the bone bad. Or maybe they’re so bad that they’re holding out for the release of the Unimog.

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I'm really not feeling the love for my fellow man today.

...and the next person who tells me to "move [my] fat arse" is gonna get a serious whuppin'. I'm not kidding.