Apparently I slept right through January, February, March. Cue Snoop, and Neely throwing open the townhouse window over a line of freshly sun-dried laundry…

The rule of three continues — Saturday night, another good friend of mine told me that her relationship has ended. Which, as with all others, is good if you see it in the right light… but regardless, it made for a strange (but worthwhile) Saturday night. Drank, got to see a few folk I haven’t in a while, got a wonderful ego boost from having four gorgeous younger women squeal (yep, squeal) my name as I walked into Bailey’s, got my tab covered for no sweat off my back, and got hit in the head with a cue ball.

Yeah, it was a good Saturday night. The kind that they should all be, I think, only with less sex and drugs than I might prefer…

It occured to me yesterday, drving past a dried-ivy covered phone pole near my parent’s house that my idea of perception (and a distinct non-existence of good and bad, beautiful and ugly, etc., except for inside the head of the viewer) is not impossible to analogize properly, as I had thought. All you have to do is think of photography (and I wish now that I had a camera, and had spent fifteen minutes taking pictures of that pole, to show that you can make any object beautiful or ugly with no special software). In any given moment, under any given conditions, any particular object can be photographed and captured as ugly or beautiful; the end result of the memory will all depend on what perspective the photographer takes.

And sometimes, making the moment beautiful (or ugly) requires a lot of work, a lot of moving around and keeping one’s eyes peeled for the unique point-of-view that will provide the right angle and combination of light and shadow and color and shape. But for any object, I guarantee: look long enough (which doesn’t require work, necessarily, as much as it requires willingness and an open mind’s eye) and you’ll find a way to see it as beautiful.

And what is life but a collection of moments, moments made up of objects?

Amazing to me that somehow, a full week into ’06, I’m still feeling healthier and more human than human than I can remember ever feeling. It’s not even euphoric anymore (although yesterday’s sundown hour, driving around in the ridiculously warm air with the windows down and a little Aurore Rien playing on the stereo was perfectly post-Apocryphal in it’s own moment). It’s simply a good, clean, dare I say normal feeling.

It’s almost like the minutes before hitting the crossroads, only calmer and with less anxiety.

I like it, myself.

Am I rubbing in the beauty of being me, or is it so far preferable to my usual (and hopefully past) Bringer of Doom and Nay that it doesn’t even matter?