About this ring:
I got this for my girlfriend for Valentine's day after having recieved an e-hint she sent me throuh the jeweler's website. UPS deliverstheir packages during the time I'm at work, so I had to go to their massive complex and pick it up there. I had considered having them mail it to me, but concluded they would probably have thought I was a prank caller and told me to piss off. My car is a hunk, so my girlfriend had to drive me to go pick it up, so I just gave it to her early. She likes it and I like that she likes it. And I like it.
I can think of only one way to put this so that doesn't sound irritatingly delicatized, but I'll cast my lot with bluntness every time: no, we're not engaged.
She gave me the greatest book I ever once owned a copy of which a blowing curtain snatched from my nightstand and hurled out the window before a drenching thunderstorm and thereby was ruined, the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy, which I love.
Owning things I love makes me nervous. I keep thinking that it'll all burn up in a fire, so that owning it will actually make me unhappier in the long run. Anthony Robbins, hyper-pituitary self-help guru, would say that that's a negative neural association that I need to work to repair, but I wonder if he would have said that same thing to Old Benjamin on "Animal Farm". My instincts say yes, since he's working to affect positivity and productivity, which is why companies send their employees to his seminars. I would like for George Orwell to have lived to comment on Anthony Robbins.
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