painting rocks

On her birthday Ams and I painted rocks on the back porch. Mine turned out pretty great. Ams didn't listen to my advice and ended up with a not-so-fabulous painted rock. All lessons from this aside, while out on the back porch under the tingling warmth of the sun, we talked about how I've matured over the years, especially when it comes to girls. Five years ago I interpreted every rejection, betrayal, and cheating as the End of Days, wondering where God could be, and doubting his love for me because I couldn't find a decent girl to share my life with. It's nauseating at times to even admit I had such thoughts. Hindsight can prove useful, and it's because of hindsight that I've seen just how foolish I was. Nowadays I just shrug my shoulders--and even laugh--at rejection. When things don't pan out as I'd hoped, it's not long before I strike out on another adventure. There's lots of girls in the world, and lots, I'm sure, that I could come to love. It's not the End of Days but the end of a particular day (and, I might add, the beginning of another) when hopes come to a final and resolute crash. I've dubbed myself as cold & calloused & disillusioned; but may I'm just normal, finally freed of the chains of naivety and ignorance (in at least one area), but this normalcy seems dry and barren, tasteless even, in comparison to the years of my teenage angst and romantic mania. Nevertheless, I prefer stoicism to any and all sorts of mania.