Reconciliation

[edit from 2019: this is some really overwrought whining about getting dumped while on the other side of the country, followed by distraction by things I like. I removed a very nonsense story about trying to find donuts for coherence]

Perhaps that title is both a bit grandiose and somewhat misapplied, as after five or six days of contemplation, I still haven't come up with a good way to write about what happened this weekend. In fact, my journal program's been stagnating with that title waiting for me since the flight from Atlanta-Hartsfield to BWI. I guess emotions and feeling are enough to break an INTP after all. Blindly floating down a stream was more fun than knowing I had already gone over a waterfall, I guess, but I'm doing pretty well with myself. I only [edit from 2019: drank to excess] Monday night.

Well, rather than depress myself with discussion of how much of an ass I was this past weekend, what I'll do instead is describe what we did this evening. I made what is fast becoming my favorite thing to make, if only because it allows for more individuality than spaghetti: chili. Spicy chili, that is, the kind that, in tasting, makes the whole of your mouth burn on the outside. It's glorious, especially because I hand pull the chicken and then cook it in olive oil and chili powder. This time, I also added cayenne pepper and allspice for something different. Glory ensued, though, as my face started sweating in the first five bites.

That was done, and then nothing happened for a while. I played some difficult material on bass, as is becoming my wont, and so on. Then adult swim started. Then we stumbled upon the greatest idea ever.

Let's get donuts.

Yeah, now it's 4:00 am. I'm listening to music and puzzled about why I'm still awake, but there you go.