You have one day left. Strike that, you have one day left after today which works well because the person of your dreams (seeing as though this hypothetical applies to all) seems to be sitting right beside you. You feel good tonight. You say hi. She/he says hi back with a smile that tells you to keeping talking or something of that nature. Take a drink. Relax. You have time.

But you don't.

See this situation you somehow called all along the way. You're feeling extremely anxious. 23 hours. You talk more. She/he likes Magnolia, good GOD! Wait, WAIT! Don't even say that you appreciate modern dance. You know who Giacometti is?! Get the FUCK out.

22 hours, 45 minutes.

Clock is ticking.

What do you do? What do you want? Sex? Hmm? A cuddle partner?

A cuddle partner? Give me a fucking break, you have 22.5 hours.

Is it really worth it when you're leaving for Montauk in the morning?

I will expound on this scenario at a later date. It's a metaphor like anything else (if we look for the ketchup behind the leftover pasta).

The Paradox of Reality as Seen Through the Eyes of a Proleptic Nihilist.

When you take into account the desire for a person to be completely honest with you, versus the amount of recovery time (you would base on yourself or on thoughts of this other person), you will inevitably come to the conclusion that it is indeed a lose-lose situation. Do I say what I want to you, or are you going to cry? Can I handle you crying? Do I care at all if you cry – strike that- will your crying affect me in some productive way at all, besides the obvious and useless guilt that will set in?

But then, no. Once again, wrong question.

Enter the person I despise but whom I actually adore more than I know -the nihilist(hence the paradox), complete with apathetic actions (oxymoron?) and unceasing desires (the anti-buddhist?). It sounds like a college artist of some type, funded by Pink Floyd albums. Give me a canvas. I'll paint it red. (Let's try the honesty thing) Speaking for all artists, in terms of what all artists hope you'll say, (my opinion) "You'll say I'm angry and filled with senseless passion. It's a cry for attention people! That's what art is! Look at what I created Mommy!"

Mommy: What, it's a red square . . .

The Artist: FUCKING SHIT! You're right.

Mommy: Oh wait I see it now.

The Artist: What? What do you see?

Mommy: My keys, I knew I left them over here.

The Artist: (sigh)

I'm going into the abyss once again because there is a reality that I am now capable of admitting: I am more masochistic than nihilistic, much to my bitter dismay.

God speed ladies of promise, honesty, and intrigue. You will always be more misogynistic that I will ever unintentionally come close to.