Sunday Morning Thoughts 8.23.15

So here goes another attempt at this. Consider it the less than grand return.

It’s been over a year- and what a year it has been. Many a time before this moment, the lonely weekly post bearing this title has fallen short, and off track, and unappreciated by its fool of an author. You see, I’m very capable of disappointment, sometimes the sort reaching incomprehensible levels. Not only have a let down myself on a rather regular basis, the pain and heartache I have caused others in this life could border on emotional war crimes.

Yet, there seems to be a sort of insane balance. For as many times as I have been such a great disappointment- expectations were also exceeded and the young man, who is not so young anymore, achieved handfuls of accomplishments that were at the very least good, if not extraordinary. I’ve done a few nice things, while still other humans have thanked me intensely and intimately for actions I deemed to be “no big deal” or “just doing my job”.

So what does that mean?

Mathematically, I suppose that just balances out to average. Sadly, I find that to be immensely saddening, if not disgusting. It is another one of those disappointing personality traits of mine, but being average may be my greatest dread. Even talking about myself this much reflects only on a seemingly selfish nature that puts the rest of the world into categories based upon how they fit into my desires for life. It is narcissistic and vicious, and even worse, I sometimes rather enjoy it.

I cannot say that this has existed for all of human history, as I have only seen a sliver of it- but it seems to me that humans love to believe that things are going to change. They often hope that they will change for the better, but lately I hear folks saying a bit more of the contrary. Actually, a lot more to the contrary. They say the world has changed into a bad place- or from a bad place, into a worse one.

I hear talk about society failing and the world running out of safe places left to go. Some people fear radical Islamic extremists, other people fear rising oceans and climate change, while some are just hiding from the bills they have to pay. There are even those who live in constant terror of what happens in their own neighborhoods. You don’t hear many people talking about sunshine and roses these days. It’s doom and gloom, and in case you haven’t heard it on the news, we’re all going to die. And to make matters worse, a spectacle of business man/reality television goon who inherited his rather lavish lifestyle is attempting to become King America. And a good number of folks think that’s a good idea.

But I don’t need to tell you all of that. You already knew that.

What you may not have known is that today was set as my daughter’s due date. So you know, she has not arrived yet. She may be stubborn, like her father who pushed his own arrival on Earth two weeks past his own due date.

Hopefully she doesn’t keep this up for long. Her father already causes her mother enough strife, we don’t need the little one to push that any further.

Not that her mother can’t handle it. She can deal with most anything. I find it very admirable, when I’m not too busy feeling awful about my own lack of comparable courage. I haven’t had a little human growing inside of me, sucking the energy out every day as the spawn grows larger and stronger. Plus, I’ve still been able to have beer and sushi and soft cheeses which makes my issues seem all that much smaller.

So cheers to the mother of my child, she is a better person than most, especially myself, though she may never admit that. In fact, not admitting it, makes it all that more true.

But her and I can both agree, that we would very much like to meet this little human. I personally have a feeling her arrival will help make every thing seem easier. Other than crying in the middle of the night and soiling her diapers. Still, that stuff doesn’t last forever.


Having a child so close to being part of this world, does not put me entirely at ease. It’s much closer to terrifying. Before all of this, I had set my wee little ambitious heart on trying to change the world for the better. Since that young boy set that goal, it seems to have only gotten worse. He didn’t have anything in this life that he needed to rush into action for. Now he does. Now I do.

No, I am not yet a parent but just the impending occurrence has got me to wondering as to why others seem to do as little as possible to make this future better. Again, I don’t know that their efforts exist or not, or in what intensity they do exist, but if people have been making babies since the first people started happening, and those people only want the best for their children- why has everything gone more and more to shit with each passing generation?

Maybe I’m thinking too much, or in the wrong kind of ways, but I would call myself a failure as a human and more importantly, as a parent, if I left this planet worse than when it was given to me. And no, that’s not just an environmental thing for anyone trying to brand me as tree hugging liberal. And no, it’s not because I think Hilary is just a bad a choice for “leader” of this nation as Trump, for those who might want to think of me as some sort of closed minded conservative. I know how you like to operate, internet.

That being said, I do think we should be kinder to the Earth, if we want to make it last and I do think we should apply a little more intense thought and rationale to selecting our elected officials, no matter how angry and fed up we might be. I do think that all lives matter as much as the people living them choose to value theirs and their neighbors. I think anyone who says their god is loving, but also wants you to kill people is not thinking with their own head. I do think we need to try harder and learn more about ourselves and each other- but I don’t think that this is a unique point of view.

It’s easy for me to stand on the internet soapbox and tell you all about my views, but I don’t intend to stop there. The difference is, that I now have someone to live for that means more than anyone else. She will mean more than any friend, family or romantic relationship has and I owe her the best life I can provide. I owe her a future, as do all of you. If you’ve been alive long enough to spend money or vote, you’ve been alive long enough to help make the changes everyone loves to complain about. I’m guilty, but I am now newly motivated.

I opened this post with an explanation of my great lack of perfection. That is because perfection is a myth, and one of the most harmful myths in all the history of man, (and women). No one is perfect, nor is any place or any time. Perfection is stagnant. Progress and regress are all that exist. Things do not stay, they always change. Yet where they change are up to us. Or so it is for us in the third dimension.

So for my little girl, I will try to make progress.



Sunday Morning Thoughts: 8.3.14

A great man died not too long ago. They cooked him up and put what was left in a box with a big picture of what he looked like when he was so full of life. Humans have some strange traditions. This happened yesterday.

The box and the picture rested before a pious stage, in front of hundreds of humans who’d come to say goodbye. His wife and children were right up front. Off to the side sat and stood over one hundred men in the uniform that the great man in the box once wore. A uniform that I myself might be wearing soon, as my father did for most of his life.

But that great man is now a dead man. Many would say that great men die every day, and maybe they do. I just never knew all those other ones. I knew this one, though he probably wouldn’t even recognize me today. I was just a kid when I met him and haven’t seen him for years. I had hardly heard about him getting sick but it happened just the same. It went quickly. Poison, you see, that he got helping to clean out that pile of rubble that killed so many over a decade ago. If you’ve been paying attention, you’d know that stuff has still been killing people years since those buildings collapsed.

This great man was not even the only one I’ve know in my life to be killed by the rubble, in one way or another.

But to us living, the death of a man such as this begs questions. In fact, it demands certain questions about our lives and our legacies. After having been to a few such events this year, I’ve run myself through the ringer of what all this life business means. It’s sad for me to admit, but I’ve been going about parts of it all the wrong way. Perhaps the greatest issue I’ve found myself falling into is wishing I could go back to change something. Now I’m sure you’re thinking, “well Brian, doesn’t everyone wish that they could go back to fix something, or stop themselves or someone else from doing something?”

And I would have to tell you that you are right. Even among the greatest of men and women, I don’t believe a single one lived a life without the tiniest regret. But my particular issue has to do particularly with me and this inability I have had to see the present because I’m too stuck on something behind me. It was such a perspective that plagued me until quite recently and although I keep wishing I could go back, I know it would be for naught.

But cheer up gang, I’m not here to be grim because that is not how I choose to deal with such business anymore. I was brought up to deal with death through celebrating life, so that’s what I do. And after years of conditioning myself otherwise, I have broken that whole deal about wishing for the past. Although I’m not quite a perfect practitioner, I am certainly putting forth all the effort I can muster away from wasting time and wishing away the present and future for what has already been.

Does that mean things I used to have will be gone forever? No, it does not. Or at least I believe. We can’t go back, this much I know is true. But we can go forward and anything in the future is possible, or at least the dream of it is.

I have regret, trust me, I do. I used to be ruled by my regret. Yet, I’m too young of a man to let that go on any longer. Sure, happiness is an abstract concept and based totally on conditions but that in no way makes it so far-fetched that it’s out of reach. It’s only out of reach if you make it out of reach. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ve played that card and it holds nothing but emptiness. Great men do not stand in the way of their own happiness. I want to be a great man. I have to be, as I was told many a time yesterday by all those men in uniform, I have very big shoes to fill when my turn comes. And here it is, comin’ around the bend.

Sunday Morning Thoughts 7.20.14

  This, right now, was once the future. Isn’t that wild? And, what used to be happening is now all behind us. Guessing games and wishing for time machines won’t get us any where though, will they?

That’s what I was afraid of.

Oh, us humans and our struggles in the forth dimension! It’s interesting, almost complete madness, how my former fear of the future makes me ache to have the past back again. And how my past unhappiness of my own fabrication made my disdain for the present and my hope, fool’s hope though it may be, to get a better future. I don’t know if you all struggle with it, but hindsight has certainly provided me with a plethora of grief and guilt and regret. Of course I’m not counting my many accomplishments and successes in all that. Why? Because I don’t think about those as much. I am consumed much more by my failures but then again, I always have been. Then again, who among us isn’t?

There’s a guy who wrote song involving something like that. The line in reference was something like-

I’ve never learned to count my blessings,

I choose instead to dwell in my disasters.

Great song, if you don’t know it. Some bloke out of New Hampshire penned it. You can find it if you like. If you’re reading this, you clearly have access to the interwebs.

I could bore you all for ages by vaguely describing the specific regrets that plaguemy heart. I could, but I won’t. I won’t because it’s probably most definitely inappropriate and, more importantly, there is nothing that me telling any of you about it is going to do to make it go away. It doesn’t apply to you, unless it does, in which case, you’re already very well aware.

See? There’s progress!

I think I’ll count some blessings instead.

To start, and I don’t mean this to be insensitive, at least I don’t live in the Middle East. If I did, there would most likely be a lot more bombs happening in my life. Everyone and there sister over here in the West has their two cents or fifty billion dollars about how to fix the problems in Syria, Iraq, Gaza, Afghanistan and so on but I can tell you for certain what won’t work. I can tell you this because if you look at the history of the human race it becomes tremendously clear. What won’t work is violence. It never has and I can prove that it has never worked because there are still people, a good number of times children and other innocents included, who are being killed by someone else’s bad intentions. If violence worked to end wars, I would have to imagine we would be done with that business by now. Yet here we are, more violent than ever.

Alright, well I’m doing real grand with this counting the blessings things since my first attempt was to say, “well at least I’m not some dead Palestinian kid.” Let’s try to move on.

So, I finished the first draft of my first novel. It’s incredibly messy and needs a good bit of revision but I’m working with my editor on that one. Some day, I’ll figure out a method of payment for her.

Anywho, I have now created a story that begins and ends and that people who have read it seem to like. There is still a long journey ahead to get it out to all these strangers in the world, and possibly even longer until it inspires folks to try and save our planet but it’s been written. Sure, it was heartbreak and pain and guilt and anger and the sort that made me pump out the last fifteen-hundred words in a week, but I’ve heard myself say that pain can truly make some beautiful things. At times. Not all the time. Sometimes pain makes bombs.

Was that better? I thought so. It’s like I said right off the bat, I’ve never been very good at counting my blessings. I also hate the word blessings. I don’t like fortunes either but that might only be because I have been very fortunate in my life. In fact, aside from a a small few traumas, most of my misfortunes are self-inflicted. I’d stop it but my younger self always seems to have it out for future Brian. Every since elementary school, the Ghost of Brian Past has really been making sure that Future Brian has a lot of work to do. The Brian of Christmas Present only does so much to help either of them out. His problem, like when in school, was staring out the window too often. He is a creature of fantasy worship which has gotten us (by us, I mean me) into many of our current predicaments.

But like I told my editor, we’re making progress. Those damn creative types though, always trying to milk their misgivings and misfortunes. If only they would have let themselves be happy way back when. Time is tricky like that. Around this time last year, I was in the writing room of my greatest inspiration’s, greatest inspiration. My idol’s idol, if you will. That was a very good day. I’ve had a lot of those. I hope to have them again.

Sunday Morning Thoughts 7.13.14: On Attempting Impossibilities

 Another week gone and here I am again. True, I don’t feel as dreadful as I had this time last week, especially regarding physical aspects, but I’m still misaligned. Terribly so, I might say, but I might be a liar. But this isn’t new. The only part that was truly new in almost half a year, or much longer really, is understanding the root. The cause, or what have you.

If there is a such thing as tragedy, it would have to be that it took this long. For you see, as much abuse as I’ve tossed my own way the past seven days, and many before that (although I know I promised that I would try to fix that, and I am, I’m just a slow learner), an admission was made that should have been made a very, very long time ago. Oh! To be in a galaxy far, far away. But since I am without a time machine, or any kind of sonically driven tool, or a British accent for that matter- I will have to make do. So stuck in time, in gym shorts, in America, I will do what I can.

It’s a tricky thing, wanting to a be a writer, especially of good fiction. I can only speak for myself here, but a story without struggle and hurt, is no story worth reading. And although I only speak for myself, I figure a few of you might agree. Now to understand good storytelling, you must live an interesting story, or so I have decided to go about it. However, there is a limit and there are lines that should be watched. To be a sadist regarding your fictional characters is one thing, but to be that way with someone you love in this real world of ours, is something totally different. Those lines and limits I was talking about? Yes, well, I’ve crossed them and am none to proud of it. Most recently especially.


If there is something that could be pulled from that, it would be the thousands of words I’ve added to the made up tale of a soon to be not so young man named Mitch. Some of you may have even met him. Now Mitch and I, we have our similarities, some would even say that we are one in the same and we almost are. The difference, I hope, is that Mitch is of fiction, whilst I am not. Also, I hope, that only Mitch realized where he had been going wrong, romantically specifically, far too late. I might be too late as well, but I can only say what’s going to happen to Mitch. I am, in a way, his god after all. But, to make the two of us the same again, even when faced with impossibilities, we shall try and try just the same. Be it in vain or achieve the aim, we shall try.

Before this day is done, Mitch will be thousands of words further. His story may even finish, in which case, if you’re are interested, let me know. You could give it a read and let me know what you think, if you’ve got the time. It will be rough and sloppy, much like having to date me, but I think it will be worth it in the end.

Oh! And poetry. I’ve written a good bit of poetry this week. It’s an interesting thing, poetry. I have been without it for too long and what a shame that is. I’m glad to have it back but less than glad that my verse and prose is grim, where it used to be the opposite. The last time so much poetry was produced, the circumstance were much more grand. I also got some written for me, to me, which I must confess my friends, there isn’t a thing more wonderful in the world. I still have some of them, though such things can only prove to make me sad now. I hope to change that, but again, I can only speak to the future of Mitch.

But a week can be long, as this one had been. A lot can happen in a week, as happened for me during this one. I don’t know what the next one will bring, but I know what I’ll try to do with it. Failure is, as it almost always, the worst thing that could happen. And since I’m already there in a good few senses, what is there to be afraid of? I’m not a total failure, of course. I just want to be a more total success. I used to be closer to that but hindsight, much like insomnia, is a bitch.  

Sunday Morning Thoughts 7.6.14: On Regret and the Sort

 For a person who isn’t very good at them, I have found myself spending a lot of time apologizing. I wouldn’t have to do so if my behavior was that of a more decent human being. I’m not saying that I am always a vindictive self obsessed and loathing human being with masochistic tendencies but I certainly have my moments.

I’ve done many a great things with my life but I still have managed to spend the majority of my day brooding over the mistakes I’ve made. The good may outweigh the bad but it is difficult to see that when the tragedy and travesty hang so heavily on my mind and heart. Loneliness is a terrible thing and has caused me to do some terrible things but if I spend all my time so fixated upon my downfalls, my life would waste away in a pool of regret.

I had a few conversations today concerning my many follies and even though the demon liquor may have helped my viciousness along, to blame it entirely on that would be very incorrect. The truth is in my heart somewhere and I may just be too terrified to make right all that I have wronged. But even with all of that, many wonderful people have forgiven me for my harsh words and deeds and though I don’t understand it, they must be able to see something in my that I just refuse to look at.

I want happiness, as we all do but unlike many others, that which stands most prominently in my way always seems to be myself. It has been a long journey to get where I am and yet the same struggles keep plaguing me and they are almost all of my own invention. I’m not a liar but I certainly have a tremendous fear of the truth and as one of my many dysfunctional idols had said, the truth is what is and what should be is a dirty lie that someone told the people long ago.

But to get back to this loneliness of my own creation, I must confess that despite my talk of despise for the many negative traits of man, I still feel obligated to help save this world and all who are in it. It has a lot to do with my ego, which is a monster that often gets out of control. I want to be loved by so many and so few at the same time and yet I can’t seem to find that love for myself. I know I contradict myself constantly but I can’t seem to find the satisfaction in my soul I claim to crave so greatly. I’ve made mistakes and I know I will in the future but if I don’t do something about my pettiness, it will surely destroy me.

I say I want happiness but how could a person claim such a thing and yet always be the one preventing it? The only explanation I can give for that is my own existence which is living testament to my own inability to accept things for how they are.

But how are things?

That’s a question I have dodged like Al Capone with his taxes and if I keep it up, we may share a similar fate. I’ve been at this point before and I’ve always failed to fix what is broken. I’ve pressed on but there has to be a limit and I may be reaching it, if it hasn’t already been passed. I’m not perfect but I’m told I could be if I would just let myself be so.

I don’t know. I was hoping that writing this would bring me some answers be all I can see are more questions. I’m sorry for the hurt I’ve caused and I can only try and do enough good to outshine the spots of heartbreak and tragedy I’ve caused. It’s messed up, but that’s who I seem to be and who I strive to be. Maybe it has to do with the people I try to emulate and aspire to be being dysfunctional degenerates who manage to create beautiful things from that. Comedians, writers, actors musicians and the like all make wonderful things but they ones I like the best make them from sweeping up the shatters of their lives that they have broken themselves. To quote one of these men, “I don’t know someone loves me unless I can make them cry.”

Awful, I know, but you’d be just as much of a liar as I can be if you didn’t admit it was true. Someday I’ll make everything better but today I will wallow around in some self pity and deprecation. Again, I apologize and I’ll try to make it better if I can.  

Sunday Morning Thoughts: 6.15.14

Just because I started a blog before most of my college friends, doesn’t mean I’m any kind of better at it. Might be that’s why I’ve retreated so much for so long. That and reddit shat right on top of the last thing I posted. And rightfully so. It was garbage and I, being far too self absorbed, couldn’t even care enough to edit the damn thing.

I’m not conceding the idea I boasted. It’s just that elegance and delivery are key to any and every good argument and I didn’t even bother with those categories. Foolish, I know- since they often mean more than making any kind of sense.

The Haunted Tech Booth

But here I go again, wasting words and tossing out two paragraphs of rubbish that no person comfortable in themselves would ever want to read.

I was taught at some vague and hazy point in my years of education about some upside triangle method for writing. You know, like in the news where they lure you into nothing with a catchy headline and whatnot. My method was, and really still is, shaped much more like a very guilty polygraph test.

But there must have been a reason why I decided to retreat to my home this evening and sit in solitude with beer, saltines and some late-night weekend public radio. Right? But even if there isn’t, here I am and here I will stay until sleep manages to find me. ‘Tis a bummer to confess but once that sleep catches me, the next day that rises will be impossibly fought as this ol’ mind in this here noggin strives to stay in the world of dream instead of being hoisted and propped up in this regular reality of ours. Don’t get me wrong, I love life and particularly my own. I just don’t feel, as a working adult, that I get to spend a lot of my day being myself, or week… or month for that matter.

I suppose the idea that has emerged within the first year of my full-time working life is the desire to leave it all behind and become a hermit of sorts. Mayhaps a sage someday, but that would be a good few years away. Twenty-three year old sages are a rather small population, and no one likes them anyway.

Of course, such a life is not impossible.

The Power Kingdom

The following is a list of all the reasons that becoming a hermit is impossible for me. None of them are good reasons, yet they are good enough to keep most of us humans down our entire lives.


I have a job, and, this job pays my bills which allows me to live in my own apartment and pay my own student loans soo… I don’t have to live with my parents as so many of my graduating classmates have had to because my parents’ generation (which is most likely their parents’ generation as well, or one right next to it) made poor economic decisions, or elected politicians who made poor economic decisions, or didn’t do enough to stop everyone for voting for such bad politicians, and therefore, guided us into a debt pickle, and, in order to go become a hermit I would have to leave all that behind and trust that I can live in what remaining wilderness I can find in the world. I’m not blaming them, I’m just saying it has to be their fault.


More importantly, the things that I want to do with my life have very much to do with an audience of friends, acquaintances and most prominently strangers by giving them bits of my creativity in the hope that it will cheer or jeer them enough to help fix the world we’ve got. If I retreat to what most would call nowhere, I lose the chance to make something that someone would want to see, or read, or hear. And due to my peculiar and superfluous egotistical paranoia, I fear that if I don’t try and make a thing, or things to inspire someone else to do the real work in fixing the world, I have failed as who I want to be.

In truth, nothing stands in my way between here and a life in which I detach from the social spectrum and take my survival into my own hands. Nothing but myself and that is really all you need to have in the way to stop you from doing anything. And by you, I mean me, which you will connect to yourself once you read. Get it?

It is too much though, and me and my peers have the grunt of the self inflicted tech addiction. This is most likely due to all those blokes selling cigarettes with medical doctor endorsements not being able to sell cigarettes like that anymore. So we all got hooked on screens and now the self sustaining system keeps us connected in every way but the human one. We hang around because the potential of such grand communications is too great to let go to waste.

So I may not be hermit material quite yet, though I’m not ruling out the possibility. But if there is anything a sage who is still more amused by prank phone calls can offer, it is this.

Delete those damn social media apps from your phone. Most importantly Facebook. I did it and I can tell the difference in how much better I feel each day. It’s not all that much, but I can tell it’s there just the same. You’ll thank me when you find extra minutes for staring at the ceiling instead of flicking through pictures and consolidated and flaccid statements of people you probably don’t care that much about.

You’ll also appreciate people more when you actually get to see them. Go ahead and touch their face. It will be hilarious.

Somewhere near Mink Hallow


Sunday Morning Thoughts 1.12.14: In or On Jeopardy

I’m practicing a technique of some writer who wrote this brilliant book that became a pretty good movie that a lot of people liked. The idea, among the many he suggested, was to set a timer for when you sit down to write. I’ve set myself for an hour and have already dawdled through the first few minutes. Still, since I’ve begun this current attempt, the pressure has kept me moving forward.

And if I were to make up some big metaphorical lie, I could tell you that I need to do the same thing with my whole vague life. But perhaps I live without truly feeling all of the pressure that I would or should be placing upon myself and therefore can progress no further. Oh, so many times in the last few weeks have I succumb to my body’s tiredness and slide away to non-specific and slightly terrifying dreams when they can be remembered. They say that your dreams are supposed to be your own unconscious mind attempting to tell you about some injustice it sees in the rest of your waking life. If that were the case, I may have to kindly ask my unconscious mind to lay down the crack pipe and get a little bit of focus. Riddles are not the thing to be had in the effort of problem solving.


But since I was lying, perhaps the mysterious and ever eluding desire that drive such an individual forward is exact what is needed. I could argue that it is, for a time at least, and say that there is no greater driving force in the history of humanity than that of unraveling mystery and revealing purpose through that which makes no sense. For myself, boredom arrives in force when I am stuck with the same routine for any length of time I deem to be unfit. Normalcy is a dread. I have always grown weary of standing in one place, which is usually and eventually adjusted as it needs to be.

But reflections in the past can be so tainted. Memory is far from perfect. Just ask any crime scene analyst. What is remembered may not have been what had happened. Either way, there is no way to prove what was. We only know what is and fight or flee the impending fulfillment of a single timeline. So there won’t be any more about any of that then.

The struggle is being able to say, or make, or play something that someone else hasn’t quite done yet. You could say that I, as a youth in the farthest point this species has gone in time, that my ability to absorb information scattered across the past would allow for me to hold an idea composed of collaboration but lacking on uniqueness. All the art and knowledge of the world is at the disposal of my finger tips, yet with that I am robbed of the experience of discovering something new.

You could say that, if you were a total dipshit. Nay, for it is I who say, that the ability to experience that of those who came before me left behind is exactly that which creates a perspective that has yet to be had. And to toot my own horn, I have been able to steer clear of a lot of the popular cultural consumption that plagues the youth and aged alike in the saturated market of product placed entertainment.

From here the burden, which I shall carry with me for most of my days, is what to do with all of this. All the things that have inspired hope and jaded my edges helped to sculpt this experience but what is to be done with it. Turning potential energy into kinetic is not as easy as the Science Guy makes it seem sometimes.

Yet I should sell nothing short. In fact, I won’t sell anything at all. It is my aim to not try to profit off of this life, though I do plan to enjoy it. And so I have been trying to again. My health is getting better, simply because I’m trying to pay more mind to it. I’ve been keeping on all of those oh, so important outlets and trying to weed out the negative impact. It is far from going perfectly, which is exactly how I expect it to go. I hold no desire to wish for things to be without making the attempt to make them so myself.

I am nowhere near where I need or want to be in life, which is the truly the greatest thing I have. I still have a vast world of mystery left to trek through and the only thing that keeps me from it is the same thing that keeps me from everything else.


Um… what is, myself?

Correct, you can now pick the next category.

I’ll take “Where to go from here?” for 200.

The answer: Anything you want.

Um… what are, the possibilities?


By the way, I didn’t go past the hour mark. Some would say life is about the little victories. I would say that every victory is great and grand.