You ever choose whether to give a fig? Or a care?

"I think therefore I am" he was saying, and I'm thinking, you can be, still, and not be sure, too, Little Cheever.  You really could.  Generally forking around, borehogging tater tots like the Pygmy that was left out in the cold.

Oh, Cry Me A River.

"I hit that sh*t like a starving Pygmy." I was bragging to Tammy, later, and she's like, "I know how you does", "and all."

It was Aurelius, last of the Good Antonines that reminded us that man is a social animal, and inclined somewhat to politics.  Where Epictetus threaded the needle reminded us of the ruling reasoning faculty, like looking upon gold and having to consciously decide its beautiful by choice of reason.  Those value judgements thread us back into politics, the shuffle, but the social reasoning, do we bring down choice or emotion into our social interactions?

A Dern I could opt not to give, or yet more and more the opposite, clutching my pearls, pawing at my handbag, holding my little dog so tightly its eyes are about to pop out of its head.

I can choose.

Tammy.  Y.

I felt something, some element of the horizon orientation, and there was a stirring, kind of a building, percolating, catharsis that wasn't.  "What is it, in and of itself?" I ask, but it was half-formed, a foundation without walls or roof, and nothing was all I could come back with, but perhaps some transitory pieces.

And I got my little ass straight, behind knowing that.

"Have a quiet moment with your advisor." Look, Cheever, I tell my advisor what's what, not the other way around.  "Just make it happen." I'm saying.  "You're the one with the Human Resources coursework."

There was a thing, and there was bling.  I saw some of that gold plating, though, gawdy as I don't know what, mirroring and lustering and just deeply, so plastic and without purpose or point, looking good, but perhaps not being precious, as if to say, "there's a lady who's sure, all that glitters is gold."

It's like, opting where to put your eggs.  I know dudes that put there's eggs in old spackle buckets.  There are Puffer Fish that clean their unhatched eggs, every day, by rolling them around in their mouths.