another day another gripe

Sometimes I feel everyone is speaking Martian. Fast and eloquent they wax, talking through their hats, with bees in their bonnets, blowing it from their asses, however it is that folks communicate on Mars.

There is only one person who seems to be familiar and receptive to the language and the frameworks of my mind. But I cannot commune with him, alas! because I need and want more from him than he can give.

No one is at fault here. Then why do I feel like a sick dog?

rerum cognoscere causas... it's just a motto.