I love my new car. Form a picture of this car in your mind: it's blue, with some paint peeling off of the trunk lid. Ski racks. Two doors. Volkswagen Fox. She's a standard, too, which makes her harder to drive, but so much more fun. In great shape for a car of her age. I need a name for it, so if you have any good suggestions for female names, shoot. I talked to a friend of mine last night, after a long stint of missing her, wondering where she was, but being forced to believe rumors as to her whereabouts, her state of being, et cetera. Shannon went for a while not liking her, despising her actions, whatever they may have been. I just went for a while confused, out of the loop, wondering why I was believing the bullshit I was hearing. So, I talked to her. On the phone. After a long disappearance. It opened my eyes, and it made me feel better. Some people do, after all, just go through rough times, some people make rash decisions. And, yes, some people will admit it. Those people are more courageous than I could ever be. It's hard for me to admit when I'm wrong, even though it doesn't seem it. Eventually, I just get too tired to care. I've finally come up with a definition for that word. Diplomacy. It's the art of dealing with people. It's the art of making them happy. It's the art of knowing that, while stupid and smart people do stupid things, you can say that you've either been there, will be there, or that you will condemn that person. It's the art of discerning single grains of truth through a sea of rotten lies, the art of finding meaning in your relationships, whether they be good or bad. It's the art of caring where you know you should.