All work and no play makes for handful of bad decisions, a drug problem, and taking candy from strangers.

Time-wise, at this exact second, this is feeling forced. Not in general, but literally in this moment. But it's important. This is becoming a sort of therapy for me, and though it may not be necessary, it certainly helps.

One of the most difficult things in life, I've discovered, is being able to admit that you're miserable. And I was very miserable. I'm still having my days. Consider this an open letter to myself, and to You, whomever You may be. There is no one single person that I can attribute each 'You' to, so if you feel that you belong there, You probably do.

You hurt me, after I helped sharpen the blade. The only thing to say about that is a fable about a snake that asks a woman to put it in her pocket. If You've never heard it before, then You'll have to find it Yourself. But the fact remains that You used the one thing I consider as the ultimate act of trust as a weapon for the ultimate act of betrayal. I say this, not to make You feel bad, but to consider, moving forward, that these are my terms. This is the one thing I'll ever ask You not to do. I've had a lot of help from You over the last months, as I was no longer Me. You, and You, and even You, taught me a lot about pulling myself out of my head, why it's important to sometimes just exist in a moment. There's so much freedom in that.

There are things that exist, and will continue to exist. Ignoring them will never make them go away, but it is OK to escape them, and to find a moment of infinite existence. You have helped me step outside my shell. You have taught me so many things. You have brought smiles to my face, while You brought heartbreaking sadness to my life.

I am lucky, and I am also sorry for this fact: There are so many people in my life that have reached their hands  out to me. And this is amazing. I thank You for doing this, and I feel I've never done enough to deserve it. I'm still a very private person, and prefer to keep the workings of my heart and mind to myself, but You were there when I couldn't hold back anymore and ad to let some of the steam roll off. It's important to do that. It's also, I'm learning, important to open up before the steam needs to be let out. It makes You a happier person.

I ask this of You now, and this is a You that all of You should find Yourself included: Tell me the truth. Not just when I ask for it, but not bluntly like a club, but tell me the truth. If there's bad news, proffer it up to my ears before I see it in your face. Because the magnitude of these things, when left to the imagination, grows like a virus.

You don't owe me anything. I want nothing for You but happiness. I want to give You nothing but happiness. And I hope we can all make each other happy for a long long time. I really do.

I end this with two quotes. I think they fit:

"She was sad, though. But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time."


"So, I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them."

The Great White Whale.

There was running, and there was a storm. I'm not sure if it was to or from either.

I've decided to (attempt to) update this on a (somewhat) regular basis. When I knew nobody was looking at it, I felt a little more freedom to ignore it or embrace it as I saw fit. I can't pretend to know who actually looks, who sees, who reads, who comprehends, but in the end, I've decided this isn't for you. This is for me. This is isn't you peeking in my windows, but rather me peeking out of it.

There are decisions to be made, and decisions to be ignored, and decision to leave forever undecided.

I've begun saying yes. To friends, old and new. To situations, bold and beautiful. To adventures, spontaneous. I've lost a lot of myself in the past. I'm an insensitive selfish bastard, who instead of fixing a problem, chooses to sit in the back licking my wounds and sending out snide remarks. Of the many things that make us people, one of the most important is who we choose to love. If you choose to allow communication to break down with strangers, acquaintances , friends, it's only a matter of time before those walls go up between you and those you love most. And thats only the beginning of the storm. So say yes. Not just that, but say yes, and ask others to come along. Invite those who are in whatever circle you see to join you. Maybe nobody else will say yes, but never let a no stop you from saying yes to yourself. Self discovery, 'Who am I?" has never quite worked out for me. The question shouldn't be "Who am I?" but rather "What makes me happy?"

As a friend told me recently, in perhaps not so many words, that it is not what you do, it's who you are. If they find me dead tomorrow in the street, the memories of the things I did will fade, the secrets will be smoothed over. A memory of a person begins to act like a ghost, and you forget the things they did, but you hold onto the person that was. This was an expensive lesson for me to learn, and I thank my friend every day for the little moments he was in my life.

I'd be surprised if you weren't there, but there's not enough wheat to feed the army.

A parable of sorts, based in truth and dream. Don't be mad at me for lying about the content.

Her dress swells around her knees as she strolls down the dirt path. Galoshes on, eyes facing the clouds in anticipation, her gait is almost that of a small girl walking in the sun for the sheer purposeless joy of adventure. I listen to her as she makes promises. I'm not sure who the recipients is: me, herself, the clouds, the wind, the oncoming storm?

Peals of thunder announce the lighting rolling up the horizon, and I stare at the garden across the street where a sunflower we relished began dancing in the breeze. The streets are empty, mostly, the waning sunlight and the darkening clouds turn the street into something resembling a ghost story.

Alone, we begin dancing in this pale light, the moisture in the air threating to dissolve us; we are steadfast in our decision. Tears roll out of the sky, joining with those on my face to mask the ache I have for more, always more. As the rain crashes, the wind roars, we don't fight it, merely come together, closer, to keep the warmth in. In this moment I can believe in eternity, as I never could before.