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So. I think I mused once long ago about my brain and its tendencies to classify the unquantifiable. Then some stuff happened and I went crazy, apparently. Many moons I spent in introspection, searching for something to feed a creative outlet I've never fully satisfied. Writing is part of that, even though I've given up freelancing as a profession. Just the same, I discovered long ago that the old saying about the differing value of pictures and words is truer than it first appears. How many paragraphs have I cranked out to convey the image in my head to the reader? Moreover how many times (as is the case with literature) has the image in my

Apparently, I've been pissing some people off around me lately. It all started about a month ago when I got back in touch with someone I treated pretty badly when I was younger. In the midst of one of my depressive fits, I had taken it upon myself to try finishing myself off for a fifth time. I decided to give myself a reason by convincing myself that there was no redemption for me (Can you feel it? Can you feel the angst just oozing right out of the fucking screen?!). I called said person to apologize, fully expecting and hoping to be decisively rejected. But I wasn't. I got that forgiveness. Wait, what? How did that happen? At any rate,

Wow. My pageviews have nearly doubled since I last checked in. Boobs are a powerful tool indeed. There comes a point in every normal person's life when they realize the meaning of mortality. Everyone eventually arrives at the fact that all life must end. Though it goes without saying that spending every moment reminding oneself of their impending death is unhealthy, some people make preparations for their passing. The elderly, terminally ill and those planning suicide (for the purpose of dying, not getting attention) almost always put together some sort of will or last requests so that others will be able to sort out what remains after they