Periodically, someone thinks it through, and is momentarily horrified. I've learned to be patient with the moment.

Why yes, there is a bed I should be warming. The reason why you can say anything to me is indeed the reason why I shouldn't be around to hear it. Not only is that true, it is also absolutely fine with me that you're going to figure it out and then just let it drop, because it's too big to talk about. It's fine if you conclude that you'd just as soon have the best of both ends of that conundrum. If I wasn't good with that, I wouldn't be here.

She's not gonna join us at the bar; she's not gonna join me at the bar. Even though it seems it should be otherwise, it's not going to happen, and it's OK for you to wonder how the world wound up shaped like that. I can wait a minute while you wrestle with that - honestly, if you come up with something original, I could stand to hear it, so I'll wait.

It always seems to me to be forever before the party restarts, though. Stuck in the caesura, sipping water among those boozing. Anticipating my moment of taxi service, quietly deciding to take a particular route home and be damned what gets thought. I can utilize a spare forever as well as the next guy, I suppose.

That old reliable jukebox once again bails me out, and the whirl recommences whirling. I can return to receiving what sounds like an apology for a picture's lack of cleavage, and demonstrating a bit of old school courtesy (with accomplices) to widen a girl's eyes, and choosing a song based on a private comment and getting bonus fedora action out of the deal. It's all the brilliance that could possibly happen, once we're past it and started back up.

Come the end of the day, though, I'm still stuck in the dark, and I'm starting to think that's what should set my course.