When I ponder the possible strategies I wonder why my brain has been invited to this party--this is an affair of the heart, after all. The brain--the Wise Man--invited himself. Of course, the Fool doesn't want him here, and look at the mess he's made of my mind (and stomach). Without the Wise Man I'd have already pulled the trigger of the gun to my head. But I don't accept the tortuous suicide, either. Is there no voice that can speak from between these extremes? It's not my voice if it exists.
Chris and Stacey and I and a few others are going out after work tomorrow night to celebrate Chris' birthday. If the company's right I might discreetly spill the beans. I'll have a beer or two (Stacey's driving), so maybe I won't be so discreet. I'm sure Julie won't be there.
I feel less confident every day that I have half a chance of gaining Julie's affection. How could she feel anything for me and not betray it; or not notice the betrayal of my feelings for her? I've got to solve this. Which is it, Julie?
^My lack of confidence always seems to see it as it is. Some pessimists consider themselves realists. Is it just an unclouded intuition?
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