Smash the silence with a brick of self control

According to my geology textbook, the energy it takes to maintain the average American lifestyle is comparable to that of 300 servants working around the clock. I'd like to send a thank you to the people at McMillan/McGraw Hill for giving me another reason to feel guiltily Marie Antoinetteish about my existence.

A few weeks ago I insinuated an aversion to ambiguity, but let's be accurate. While extreme ambiguity may kill me, in the presence of predominantly constant, total conclusiveness, I'd probably kill myself.

I'm pretty sure I'd still be disgusted by coffee if it weren't for the fact that I have it mentally associated with outstanding conversation.

So, I'm more or less unwaveringly dependent on my own thought process. Considering that, I think it's pretty ironic that my (mind you, overwhelmingly successful) solution to several issues is to not think about them.

Speaking of which,
Linda's Pet Peeve of the Week: There seems to be a general epidemic misunderstanding of the word "ironic." Getting diagnosed with terminal cancer with a predicted week remaining to live is not ironic; it's unfortunate. Your best friend getting diagnosed with terminal cancer the next day is also not ironic; it's coincidental. Dying a week later from a drive-by would be ironic.

Sometimes, living by your own standards can be astonishingly difficult.