I want to wash my mouth out with lye. Another former progressive group related to the good doctor meeting has concluded. The problem isn't the kewl kids who are massaging it into place: the problem is the idiots who want to comment constantly throughout the birth-pains. (And no, my idiotic mst3k-like commentary throughout the process is a flash-back to key-club-nazi-fightback, designed to inspire mirth and quiet laughter. I speak to loose tension, to let the people near me know I don't buy all the goods being sold. Importantly though, my dramatic asides consume no time and are spoken sotto voce.) The idiots who ask meaningless questions, to merely hear the sound of their own voices, these are the ones I condemn. There were far less this time, so that was good. Still, I long for the meeting where peoplw who actually have valid points speak out. Plus, no one threatened to quit this time. Kind of a letdown, really.

Before I hit the Powers-that-be, I suppose I should explain the flow business quickly. Basically, because of the White Power Incident on Thursday afternoon, I was unable to go to Barnes and Noble. I thought about hitting Afterwords, but instead decided to learn some vague law stuff with Fincher, reasoning that the books I wished to collect would be available at B and N the following day. As a result of this decision, Friday I buzzed by B and N and scored the book I was looking for for m-day, courtesy a tip from Jill. On the minus side, the book I wanted to pick up for y.t. wasn't available there. Consequently, I couldn't nab the Powers-mentioned-earlier because I was out of time. So I roll home for m-day and end up reading a Wittgenstein book which related to a conversation I had had earlier in the week. The book was a great way to spend the weekend. When I came back from funchester, Sunday evening, I called up a few friends and then walked over towards the afore-mentioned Afterwords. One exact conversation on the phone later, I'm outside when the party in question finishes. So, perfectly, I roll inside and find the particular Powers book in seconds flat. Calling back the earlier friend, I discover I need to wait an hour or so, so I roll north to a little kalorama park I hadn't hit in years.

Dusk hits and the lights come up, perfect for reading. Plenty of people play in the park, and snatches of conversation invade my consciousness as I read about a reference librarian and the double-helix-twisted lives fictional characters live. A bit later I get a call, close my book, and meander north.

So where's the flow?

Well, put simply: everything worked out. From the anthrax decision to not hit Afterwords (enabling me to walk around adams-morgan, dressed up beyond what I should have been, cream-flavored ice-cream dripping onto the sidewalk as I discussed briefly how a bill becomes a law) and to enjoy the evening, I was cursed to spend the weekend with the Wittgenstein book I wished to read anyway. Having finished that, I then managed to score the Powers book after a nicely timed conversation exactly as I needed to on Sunday. Each decision seemed like a halfway decent one, but in hindsight, they each fit; they each were perfect. Even today, as I sat at work, problems mounting, I managed to show up late for my evening political appointment. Yet to show up early would've been sheer hell. Only through pain came the consequence of victory.

That's where the flow idea comes in. I hate the concept of fate. And I am hesitant to debate free will with the likes of Brad and others. But, excluding all other variables, I do tend to hit waves right below their crest, to swim with the current rather than against. Things just seem to work. Causality may be an illusion, but if we go on the past record alone, things continually seem to work out for me for the best. A million ideas bubble to the surface, of which only two reify themselves, and yet the flow never ceases. Rinse, later, repeat. It's the only thing that keeps me going from day to day, the knowledge that each day will be easier, better, stronger, faster than the day preceding it. I've got the manic bit down fine. It's the depression I can never seem to conjure up. Oh, well. I'll just keep riding the current until I need to get off.

Time to end an amazingly amusing evening.