making sense

I will be the first to admit, men don’t make sense. I should know, I am one and well, there are days I don’t get it, so how in the heck would a woman figure it out.

We like to think we are simple, and, to a degree, we are. Thoughts generally revolve around a myopic set of interests that stereotypically include sex, food, sports and whatever hobby we picked up along the way be it music or being a mechanic or what-have-you. When we’re not focused on any one of those thoughts in particular we might dissect the world around us. Notice, the world around us, not us and our place in it. That kind of insightful and self-assessment is not generally necessary. We seem simply to know without explicit analysis what we are doing with a type of internalized focus to move forward to the right place in our world.

The reality is, though, we just don’t express how we come to those conclusions about things. We don’t externalize

About thedoormouse

I am I. That’s all that i am. my little mousehole in cyberspace of fiction, recipes, sacrasm, op-ed on music, sports, and other notations both grand and tiny:
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