But most of the time such endeavor feels like an utter waste of time, knowing full well it's all just so much self-centeredness, which any philosophy (or - gasp! - religion) worth more than two crusty turds would point out as being the only problem there could possibly be.
So, it's tough being rocked and hard-placed as we are.
Well, as I am, anyway. You may free no pressure whatsoever to "put out" in this wordy pixel way, and quite likely couldn't possibly see it as being self-centered, let alone see self-centeredness as a possible problem in this oddly dream-like reality we call The World.
Well, good for you, blissful patron of ignorance!
As for me, I'll continue to suffer without hope of empathy, whilst the rest of you bang away on them slowly-fading keypads, certain that your salvation via your lord and savior the great internets is imminent, if not well nigh at hand, foot, or other favorite appendage (boys, or girls with "outties" only, of course).
I'm reading my first Philip Roth book, but it's not all that Philip Roth idolators have cracked him up to be. But then, I'm only on page 54, and I think the main character is just about to have sex with his first college date. At least, his hands are groping her breasts through her bra, and she was not averse to his putting her hand on what, in this moment so all-important to species-continuance, is likely his favorite appendage. Well, on the outside of the pants, anyway. Be we all know that her non-aversion to such hand-placement can only mean all systems are go, ignition ready, and the "T-minus" count is somewhere in the blessed single digits range.
So please, Philip, don't disappoint me with a sudden display of frigidity. Although, damn, there's been a bit of foreshadowing that there may not be enough time to do the deed, so I'm worried for the main character on that account. But I'll cross my fingers and click on "Publish Post" and hope for the best, as always.
