Love is icky. Even on
its best days love is still pretty darn icky.
It's the corn on the cob of emotions, all sweet and buttery warm one
second and annoyingly stuck between your teeth the next. I'm really not a fan, but people seem anxious
to read about it and we're all about giving people what they want unless it's a
hug.
Jotsalot: People pleasing for a price.
That shouldn't be the company motto possibly because it's a
business model and not a motto. I
inserted “possibly” because the nuances between the two escapes me.
Which logically brings us to the subject of colors and
emotions. Like most men, adding -ish to
the end of blue, red, and yellow covers the spectrum and “happy” and “not good”
handles emotions. Is happy an emotion or a state? I really don't know. I do know you can experience things without
having a word for them, but the pillow talk is awkward.
Intentionally writing bad poetry is kind of like that. Anyone can write bad poetry, most days
without even trying, but the wink wink bad is tough. I tried writing a Valentine's Day poem about
two caterpillars and a pipe cleaner, but the romantic in me came through no
matter what I tried. I don't even want
to get into the one about the sadist and the dead horse.
So, things are progressing along nicely. Focusing on the carrot instead of the stick
keeps me optimistic and having fun keeps me working.
