She was a sour girl the day that she met me.

I've learnt that coffee makes me happy (or at least not as unaccomodating as I usually find myself to be) in the morning. Then again, my disposition's normally sunny at dawn. I'm not sure of myself in this respect; I'm also not sure about what my favourite position while sleeping is. If I did know, it'd most likely be easier to sleep, as opposed to endlessly pondering over what my favourite position was prior to actually sleeping.

But as I slowly creep out of the caffeine-induced episodes playing in my head, I've come to the realization that I miss being a muddled, unorganized brat of a child who didn't know how to properly tie his shoelaces until he was 10. At least as a child, pompous behaviour could be attributed to simply being young. I suppose that it explains my brimming, ever-present inclination towards the most unattainable, extremely attractive and terribly outgoing girls with a sense of Parker Posey mirth and quirk. Because I treasure eccentricities that others would disregard as being plain...strange.

No, childhood pompous leanings don't really explain my inclination at all. And a very low number of the aforementioned apples of my eyes could ever be considered pompous.

It doesn't sound that strange when I think of all my past relationships being adventures. Not so much because of the drama, but because of how inextricably different each girl was in comparison to the other. There's no pattern; no links; no commonalities; no method to the madness. (And it gets better in terms of those who got away.) Neither can I say that I was randomly trying my luck and casting a net whilst trying to ensnare multiple catches at once.

I respect the softer sex, if only because it's hardly 'soft'. I could probably gush about the fascination I have with them in general, but that'd betray my standing as a (failed) misogynist. Or would it only contribute further? I'll leave that particular vote in your hands.

More java, please.