No Sense in Pouting

Yesterday, i completely forgot there was any hope in the world. I walked into the neighbors house, thinking that i was in a state that was perfect for spending time with people. I thought I was calm and prepared to look at everyone around without hoping to look down, but when i stepped into the house and saw the three women watching television, something snapped, and all the hope washed out of me and looking down was all i could do to prevent myself from bursting into tears. I stepped outside, pitying myself and sat on the neighbor's, neighbor's lawn and cried for a bit, recited a bit of Mary Oliver Poetry i memorized over lunch ("isn't it plain that the moss, except that it has no tongue, could lecture all day if it wanted on spiritual patience") that seemed perfectly fitting ("Everyday i walk like this around the pond thinking: 'if the doors to my heart should ever close i am as good as dead'"). I was immobilized there for twenty minutes, noticing that the porch of my house was currently occupied. I could not use my energy to start a conversation for the fear that i would either start crying in front of that person or be found utterly pitiable, which would be really really irritating. So i continued sitting until Tyler Helman walked up the sidewalk and stopped in front of me.
Believe it or not, i looked up and was not compelled to turn my face at the ground. Instead a huge weight lifted and a insalvable (beautiful spanish word for "insurmountable") loneliness lifted with the happiness of his company ("Everyday, so far, I am alive").

Person of "the day before Yesterday"
I have once again managed to avoid being the creepy guy that hangs out by the docks. I think it may be that i speak in an affected voice (some might call it feminine) or perhaps I simply do not look like a murderer or ex-convict or, even, people can simply see my intentions are wholly benign. I say this because i rode my bike down towards Seneca Lake at break-neck speed in the hope of jumping on  the train i heard rattling by for the first time. I did not make it in time, but, in its place, were a group of people and a dog that looked like a long-haired wishbone or that dog baxter from the movie anchorman. I asked to take some pictures of them and their dog, and, after swimming, remained for a little longer.
It was difficult to ask strangers for their picture and not appear creepy, but "trout" the terrier and his five college friends were the cornerstone of friendliness, and as i walked away, my only fear was that my enthusiasm for reuniting with them was communicated a little crudely and excitably.
I suppose my goal in life, according to a fortune cookie, is to relinquish control and try not to be in the limelight. There are a few times i can think of right now where i allowed myself to relax in the presence of others and wait, like a chess player, for them to make their move. But chess is a game, and, in a game, it does not matter if people think i am creepy or not.