And now Deep Thoughts with Uberreiniger

Nobody ever killed themselves with a blade.
Nobody ever killed themselves with an overdose.
Nobody ever killed themselves with a gun.
Nobody ever killed themselves with leap from a tall place.
Nobody ever killed themselves by drowning.
Nobody ever killed themselves by throwing themselves in front of a car, a train, or a horse cart.
All those implements were merely what put them out of their misery.

In truth, every suicide begins with the same weapon. That weapon consists of three words: "I don't believe..."

You can't park here. This is where the drunks come to puke.

Not much to report from the real-life world today, except that I took the cd poorheather and I made to Dean last night and got the schedule for the next two weeks sort of planned out. He said he'd listen to the music today and he seems pleased. He also broke the unfortunate announcement that he and Lesley have parted ways with the film company they were attempting to start with some other people. Basically the guy in charge of it is a petty tyrant and an egomaniac with no concept of how a business is run. What this means for me is that I won't be getting to work on a movie soundtrack after all. Having been on this company's email list and watched the fur flying back and forth between the two factions, I've determined that this guy is no one I would want to sign a contract or enter into any kind of binding agreement with. As much as I would love the opprotunity to work on a film soundtrack, it's too big a risk. I trust Dean's judgement very much, and if he and Lesley (one of the most trusting people I know,) don't trust someone, then I probably can't trust them either.

It's disappointing. I'm growing weary of artistic endeavors I get involved in falling apart because of the flakiness and irresponsibility of other people. First the theatre ministry gig and now this. But it may be a sign. My novel is lying around gathering dust, still unpublished and me hardly putting any time into it. And I've known for a long time that if there is one thing I am "supposed" to do in this life, it is publish that story. Call it divine assurance, call it me believing what I want to believe, call it whatever you wish, but I know it to be true. Maybe I'm simply not allowed to become consumed by anything else until that happens.

Anyway, after meeting Dean, I came home, promptly collapsed not unlike a spent phallus, woke up, came to work, started posting philosophical drivel, took over a pirate ship, and came home. Still not bad for a night's work.