Alice: Oh, no, no. I was just wondering if you could help me find my way.

Cheshire Cat: Well that depends on where you want to get to.
Alice: Oh, it really doesn't matter, as long as...

Cheshire Cat: Then it really doesn't matter which way you go.

The past few days have merely been slightly distorted mirrors of one another. Early morning walks, accidental poems and car rides without destinations. Oh, and cigarettes. Lots and lots of cigarettes.

It makes sense, I suppose. The truth is, this has become a game. I don't know what I'm trying to win or why I'm trying to win. I'm not sure I even want to win. If the past is any indication as to what is awaiting me at the finish line, then I feel like I'm wasting my time. It's like when you play those awful games at traveling carnivals. The one where you attempt to win a goldfish, even though you have no desire to own or care for a goldfish. You simply have to win. And when you take it home and place it in a bowl of sorts you are certain you'll wake up to find it floating at the top. You won't care. You'll flush it down the toilet and forget about the prize. Because after all, you've already won. You can't lose something you never had. I think I secretly want to win just so I can lose.

And yes. I am the queen of convoluted metaphors.

I realized how nurturing I am and how willing I am to nurture just about everyone and tend immediately to their needs. So much so that I forget to take care of myself. I just need a little water now and then. I need some sunlight, too.

While at the pet store, trying my best to avoid walking near the cats in cages, I caved and had to give my fond regards to the furry residents of the towering land of feline imprisonment. And that's when I saw her. Lily, was her name. Solid black. All I had to do was look in her direction and I knew it was fate. I walked to her cage. She pawed at me. I had to pull myself away otherwise I would have opened the cage, put her in my purse and bolted out of the door. Not having her in my arms is my most consuming regret.

That last line would sound beautiful coming from a boys mouth in reference to a failed love affair, wouldn't it? I think so, too.

I feel as though I have voluntarily severed my own leg.
I'm not quite sure how I feel about this rash decision.

It feels like Valentines Day.