Murk

Sometimes, I see a hand rise from the murk,

and with surprise, I realize that it is my own.
As all the wet dirt and grime and mud slides down, off the fingers, it looks almost clean, almost normal, as it reaches out for the bark.
But of course, the bark really is a blade of straw.
The mud crashes over my head as I briefly pull the straw down with me before it slips through my fingers and floats back to the surface.

Then, things are as they were.

An ID Card

I have a card.

There's an old photo of me on it, along
with a very recent notice of renewal.

It says "Schwerbehindert" on it.

It depresses me.

Sort of self-fulfilling.

Somehow Shallow

There is something that has been going through my
head lately and has been dug up and put right on top
of the mental pile by almost losing my friendship with
someone who might prefer not to be named on here
and Crystal's latest blog...

The way I end up picking my friends is terrible.
Mind you, the friends are not, but I keep noticing that
I practically solely dedicate my friendship to gorgeous
people. There is not one ugly person in my little (ex-
clusively online, by the way) circle of friends. What
does that make me ?

A shallow bastard, I suppose.

Now, it's not like I would be friends with a hot airbrain.
I don't think that I could stand that for even a few
minutes. But doesn't that actually make it worse ? 

Isn't it awfully decadent of me to "pick out" an "elite"
group of amazing people ? It's not really a conscious
effort, mind you. But that's where I am drawn and it
is what it ends up being. It just seems that it makes
me a... not very good person, so...

I wonder how to fix it.