99 bottles of beer on the wall...

Do you know the definition evil? No? Well let me fill you in - it's coming home just tanked enough to be convinced of your newest theory, but just not tanked enough to pass out before opening your blog to type it all down. Beelzebub, thy name is blog.

So here it is - I am so sick of people telling me their romantic lives are a merely a series of near misses. Is it not more accurate, or at least more quantifiable, to say it's a series of near hits (which is to say it is a series of hits that came close to not hitting, but hit all the same). Capisco? No?

Gee wizz, you have to spell things out for some people don't you?! Ok so let's start with the near miss supposition - for beginners, how do you know you 'just missed' or been 'just missed' most of the time? By definition, the entire (non) event probably played out in a space beyond your perception. For seconds, even if you do by chance recognise the phenomena occurring, who's to say that, should the situation be reversed and you 'catch' this illusive opportunity, it would prove beneficial to your romantic future? Perhaps the true hit was in the miss... if you get what I mean...

Which brings us to the whole crux of that statement - the complainant obviously feels their present would somehow be improved should cosmic forces have delivered an alternative outcome somewhere along the line - well that's just bullshit, isn't it. I mean if you're seriously going to follow this idea through to its logical conclusion, you'd have to go back to the said event and explore each of the multitude of possible outcomes. And this is where it gets crazy; each resulting scenario would produce another exponential group of events (which you could either 'hit' or 'miss') and so on and so forth. But we've all seen the movie haven't we? Point is, odds are you'd be no better off because inherently you'll always tend to make the same sort of choices – the human freaking psyche my friends - it's a bitch.

I think I'm sick of typing now and my bed looks like a life raft outta this existential storm. Sweet dreams.