Quixotism

…is a real word. [Look it up](http://dictionary.reference.com/search?r=2&q=quixotism) if you don’t believe me. It’s a burden, being both romantic and quixotic, believe me.

Screwing up is something we’ve all done, right? Boned the big presentation? Fouled the winning goal? Gone off on a stupid tirade about something in the early stages of a relationship? Okay, maybe the last situation is unique to me and my big mouth, but it happened.

There’s This Guy that I keep mentioning who’s been out of town for a while, so we’ve been spending a lot of time on the phone, which I HATE. Well, long story short, we were talking about something, and what I meant to say was “Here’s my position that you might consider” and somehow what came out was “blah blahdy blah, I’m a freaking psychopath, blah blah.”

Needless to say this was bad.

We talked tonight and he’s totally weirded out by me and my gargantuan trap; and the worst part is I’m supposed to go out to the Wild Blue Yonder- his current locale- to see him this weekend, and I’m unsure that he wants me there. Given the context, I don’t especially blame him, despite my protestations that his concern should be less about what I said but more about me being such a douchebag that I would say them. Well, he’s going to take away what he will, and there’s little I can do except sit back and see what a bloodbath I’ve made so, as socrates said, fuck it.

In other news, I’ve discovered that I l’m living in this sort of bizarre bourgeois world that I never intended to live in. I think somehow the Agent and I were on this path and when he left the picture I just continued down it, but I have to admit I’m not sure about where I arrived at. I’m seriously considering renting out my house/giving away most of what I own and starting over. Like, St Francis of Assisi oldschool, starting over. Taking the CDs, books and and the computer, only, and giving it another go.

Who knows. I’m tired… and loaded.

Listening: Bizarre playlist, at the moment, Indigo Girls “Meet Virginia Wolf”