A lot of things are on my feeble mind lately, but I don't feel compelled to bore you with them. I'll keep it brief today, and not get lost in self-pity or navel contemplation.
My bel amant just finished moving into my flat, which was no small task. A large television of the picture tube variety, a fold-out couch and various and sundry habiliments were crammed, stuffed and crowded into The House of Four Cats. Along with a dog, Belle, and a kitten, Ghost. It's a bit unwieldy, having five cats and a dog, but it's wonderful, too. Social phobia and avoidant personality disorder may make it extremely difficult to go out in public, or even just to family functions, but at the same time I'm a lover, man! I'm not a misanthrope, bitter or otherwise. I'm not crazy about people, but I love Linda and her assortment of animals, and I totally trust her. I think I'm a relatively normal person when it comes to maintaining a healthy relationship. Perhaps I'm a bit strange and intense, and I took my pants off at the wrong moment during our first date well over a year ago, but methinks what we have is most excellent.
Human interaction in general, though, is a very serious problem for me. Moreso with every passing day. An Easter gathering, for example, caused an anxiety attack that had me in tears. And I'm still thinking about what I said and what was said to me, endlessly analyzing. Very tiresome, and withering to the soul. Complaining about it makes it even more heinous. But there it is.
I've posted a picture of Jack Nicholson on a boat with numerous scantily-clad women simply because it amuses me. It says everything, and should be on the dollar bill as far as I'm concerned.