Mild disappointment and nothing better to do compels me to tinkle somewhat the plastic. Begin patheticness: the frauly female that I covet and I's interactions today weren't as top notch as could have been. I guess the lesson is that I shouldn't overanalyse things. That would certainly be conventional wisdom. The reason being there is too many variables, too many possible interpretations for each and every human deed. This seems hard to deny. But, then, the devil's in the details. Mentalists and such like see so much more than us, and it must be assumed that it's there to be seen. That small things betoken past themselves. This is also conventional wisdom. I've a weeks holiday, and my fond fantasies had me imagining that there would have been some concretum that I could have taken home with me, a certain sign and addition to the treasures of my spirit. But no. I go home empty handed. And until there is some such sign, the scary, scary possibility rests that it's all in my head, that these transports have no foundation, and that the progress I percieved myself to have made have been misinterpretations, that I am still enclosed entirely within myself. How can one know - to put it poetically - if one is really alive in that sense without evidence? How know the external world exists when all we have are our ideas? And does that not open up great possibilities of puns? Of the real danger of solipsism right here?
Ultimately - tho in fact this is very likely not the case, or at least oftentimes not the case - there must come a time when one knows. I have known before, with the aforementioned 1st year girl. But she dished out Evidenz like it was butterscotch. This one but don't. It is halt possible that... well, i'm repeating myself here, really just typing to time waste.
Come on, you big bloody life, life me!