T M I

does anyone else wrestle this much with the composition of a single, inconsequential blog that for all intents and purposes less than a handful of people may ever choose to lay eyes upon? i'm gonna guesssssss probably not.


the question i constantly wrestle with in the process of assembling these literary gems [ha] is how much of myself should i share? i know that if not for the limitations set by social norms, there is very little i wouldn't share. in fact, i came to this monumental conclusion about myself the other day when i was journaling: i have no desire to keep any secrets about myself. that truth is evidenced by the fact that i just posted information from my private journal on to my online blog. go figure.


i understand that this particular aspect of my personality may be every bit as unique as it feels. people go at great lengths to hide the things about themselves that they don't like, from circumstances in their past to personality quirks and insecurities. i've found that a lot of what i do [including but not limited to this blog] is motivated by my desire to expose each and every quirk and insecurity - good, bad, and butt-ugly even if it means owning up to a sometimes shameful past. the secrets i do keep about myself are kept out of the social necessity i eluded to earlier. i mean i guess it might be weird to put all my business up on the internet or something. whatevs.


the real butt-kicker is that those limitations end up hurting my case in the end and make any disclosure counter-productive. i would like nothing more than to provide detailed explanations for everything i do but i know that even then, the flawed human experience we all endure makes faith in the purity of anyone's intentions practically impossible. coupled with the reality that i am in fact a little bit nutzo [as we all are] and the end result is a bigger mess than any of my efforts could ever hope to undo. add to all that my inexplicable need to employ all kinds of big smartypants words that serve no purpose other than to color everything i write with an heir of pseudo-pretentiousness and boyyyyy oh boy do we have a humdinger on our hands.


the major fuel behind all of this is my fear of being misunderstood. in a perfect world, i would be able to fully articulate my heart's intentions and no one would misinterpret anything i say or do ever again. then i'd fly off into the sunset on my purple sparkley unicorn, we'd slide down a happy rainbow made of jujubees and me and my husband jason schwartzman would live happily ever after, amen.


...


yeah.

either / or - one and the same

i don't know if anyone else perceives their own life this way, but i find that my life unfolds in themes. in my mind, i see a picture of a timeline running across the bottom of a textbook biography of myself. all the key events are marked out, there are those thumbnail-sized pictures of significant figures and places and little upside-down triangles in primary colors marking the beginnings of new seasons. i've written little bits about it in previous blogs but this season of my life has been dedicated to finding balance, particularly the balance between my heart and mind.

i’m not sure if it was immaturity or ignorance that lead to my assumption that frivolity and seriousness were mutually exclusive. i know that in the past, i’ve felt an internal pressure to be fully one or the other as if i couldn’t be authentically one if the other was present. i spent most of my childhood running around with hurt feelings and most of the past few years discrediting my feelings almost altogether. as of late, a lot of my thoughts and musings have been dedicated to the reconciliation of this perceived disparity and recent events have raised the stakes significantly.

this week i ventured back out into my social life after spending a week exclusively with my family. i'm finding that returning to "real life" is every bit as tricky as i anticipated. the thing about mourning is it makes everything - EVERYTHING feel inappropriate. laughing feels insensitive, fun feels out of order, crying seems excessive, isolation feels dramatic, company feels contrived... every thought and feeling is shaded with a little bit of doubt. for an analytical mind like mine that thrives on assurance of reason, this utter lack of reason is like torture.

and yet, being the God-fearing person that i am, i acknowledge God's grace in it all. as much as nothing is right, the converse is also true - nothing is really wrong. fun is okay, friends are amazing, and yes, family is still of the utmost importance. i don't need to shy away from things or people that enrich the quality of life just because my life has taken this drastic change. and make no mistake, i have no intentions of running away from the reality of this change. my family and Mike's many friends suffered an incredible loss in his passing and it would be a disservice to his memory to feign otherwise. but as corny as it sounds, i take great comfort in knowing that Mike would love to see me and my family enjoying life, he would be laughing at the stupid jokes i tell and i can honestly hear that distinct laugh of his even now.

there's a part of me that feels like i've rushed into this return to "real life" and another part that knows there's no point in delaying the inevitable. i'm in no hurry to heal because i know full well that this particular wound may never fully heal - but that's okay too. i don't plan on living my life depressed nor do i plan on living in a blissful state of willful ignorance. i'm hoping to find a balance between the two and the truth in them both.

'Tis better to have loved and lost

this week has been -- without question -- the most difficult of my entire life.

on Sunday December 2nd, 2007, my cousin Mike Hong was in a car accident that took his life. since then, it's been a whirlwind of confusion, pain, heartache and indescribable grief. i've been spending every moment that i can with my family, scrambling to find a way to deal with this incredible loss and finding that there is no right way. there is simply no right way to deal with a circumstance that is so incredibly wrong. Mike was only 28 years old and had all the potential in the world. but even in that short time, it's clear that he has left a legacy.

growing up, my cousins and i were all more like brothers and sisters. every holiday and family gathering was something to look forward to because it meant time with Mike, James and Nancy [if we were really lucky, our cousins from new orleans Timmy and Brian would be there too]. my brother Chris is around the same age as Mike and James and Nancy is just a couple months younger than me so all of us were always super close. the best moments of my childhood definitely involved time spent with my cousins.

as we got older, it became more difficult to maintain childhood bonds. i know that my moving across the country made it especially hard but without fail, every time i came home for a visit, Mike would make time for me. we'd go to our favorite korean restaurant and catch up on what was going on in our lives and more importantly, what was going on in our family. Mike cared deeply about the bonds we all made in childhood and was always making efforts to make sure those stayed as strong as possible. his love for his cousins, his parents and especially his little brother and sister was immeasurable. whether we deserved it or not, he always had faith in us and always hoped for our very best. he was everyone's biggest fan. there really is no way to overstate it: he loved us.

hearing that he was gone was nothing short of surreal. i didn't believe it when James told me and as i drove to the hospital, i was sure i would get there and it would all be some kind of mistake. the hardest part of this mourning process has been trying to imagine life without him. as stupid as it sounds, there was even a moment as all the cousins were gathered eating dinner when i almost asked aloud, "where's Mike?" and though it broke my heart to have to meet with family under such tragic circumstances, in a way i know it was what Mike wanted all along: for his family to just be together - to enjoy each other's company and to love each other the way that he loved us.

i've been overwhelmed by the support of my friends in the past week. my aunt and uncle have been surrounded by loved ones and my cousins have all truly come together to support one another. we've all been showered with sympathy but i think James said it best at Mike's service: the real people to feel sorry for are the people who never knew Mike. we were the lucky ones that got to spend 28 amazing years knowing him, loving him and being loved by him. there were definitely moments this week, especially those spent with Mike's girlfriend Arielle, when i questioned the truth of that old adage 'Tis better to have loved and lost. i've always heard it in the context of romance as some kind of consolation to the brokenhearted. but when i looked into its origins it turns out that it was written by a man who lost his best friend at a tragically young age. it was written by someone who could probably relate to all of us who loved and lost Mike. in that light, i see how true it really is:

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.


i love you, Mike and it has been a privilege to be loved by you.

That's why it's called a crush. If it didn't hurt, it would be called something else.*

so it turns out they’re not butterflies at all but rather dull razor blades set on motorized hinges. harmless enough when small in number, the soft swiping of metal swooshing against stomach lining is deceptively soothing at times. but in time the damn things multiply [who knew machines could multiply?] and now Wings[c]** sharpen Wings[c] and it becomes clear that these Wings[c] were fashioned for friction not flying. their cruel purpose is fully realized in their mass production and the subsequent spilling of my guts.






*: the title is a quote from 'sixteen candles', the sound advice of samantha[molly ringwald]'s father.
**: those are supposed to be lil copyright symbols but i don't know how to type them without the assistance of microsoft word.

discretion*

i'm going to try to keep from saying more
i’m sorry secrets aren’t my forte
i haven’t got the power to ignore
the things my heart keeps wanting me to say

i’m sorry secrets aren’t my forte
i’ve other strengths designed to compensate
the things my heart keeps wanting me to say
fueling constant heart and mind debate

i’ve other strengths designed to compensate
my inability to shut my mouth
fueling constant heart and mind debate
somehow shutting both and neither out

my inability to shut my mouth
my aptitude for saying what i mean
somehow shutting both and neither out
losing purpose somewhere inbetween

my aptitude for saying what i mean
i haven’t got the power to ignore
losing purpose somewhere inbetween
i’m going to try to keep from saying more



*: for the poetry novices [don't worry, i was one about three weeks ago too] this form is what you call a pantoum. i hope you enjoyed it.

thankfulness is sooo cliche

thanksgiving is the day that most bloggers, myspace bulletiners, and text messagers all across the land devote their technological musings to the issue of thankfulness. you can almost hear the collective tap-tap-tapings of keyboards and cell phone buttons as they all take a moment to thank all the peeps up in their friend lists, their homies around the way and the b**tches and h**s in errry area code, ya hearrrd? word.

now this is all well and good as i'm sure many of those partaking in this unofficial tradition are in need of motivation to express their gratefulness. but does a one-time holiday-induced expression of thankfulness really constitute ACTUAL gratefulness? especially when some of the authors are the same kids who use these technological mediums to bitch and moan about the pettiest drama? [believe me, i include myself among these perpetrators as i have been guilty of my fair share of stuuuupid bulletining]

i know it's trite to say so plainly, but we are all so very blessed. we have food to eat, roofs over our heads, amazing friends and family, not to mention computers and cell phones through which to wax poetic about all of it. i've been attempting, sometimes unsuccessfully, to exercise true gratefulness and its application to my life. it's easy to get caught up in the minor ups and downs and lose sight of the bigger picture. it's easy to get mad, sad or pissed about trivial details that only serve to put the focus on the last place it should be: me.

today and every day the prayer of my heart is that i learn how to truly love. not love that is as fleeting the blink of a cursor but love that is enduringly patient, selflessly kind, secure enough to overcome jealousy, purely motivated in a way that doesn't necessitate boasting and not flippantly modest but truly humble. and as difficult as it is to practice, i want to love in way that doesn't keep record of wrongs - even when there are legitimate wrongs to keep record of - but rather keeps record of ennumerable blessings.

even despite my many shortcomings, i hope that i have been able to show you true love in this way. i know that i am continually blown away by how much i am loved by you as it is just further proof of God's incredible love for all of us.

i love you. no for real, i love you. and i am so very thankful for you.

way with word

school has proved to be far more enriching this go-round. i'm no longer pushed by grades and their imaginary importance. instead i'm actually motivated by the opportunity to learn new things [going to school to learn? a novel concept, i know]. in this new found freedom i'm finding that despite the wide spectrum of concepts my classes seem to cover, there's lots of overlap between them and in fact, in my life [school applying to life? a novel concept, i know].

of all the poem's i've written for my poetry class, this one has resonated with me the most so far. probably because the inspiration was drawn from both school and life which i guess in some ways, are proving to be one and the same.

so lady and gentleman, i present:



way with word

you may not believing
but i have way with word
maybe i not having way with your word
but i have a way with my words
because with my words
i can bob and weave
i can sew tapestries
that tell stories
of my warrior past
no i may not having
way with your word
but my words come easy
with my words
i can articulate every thought
every feeling
i can crack my own jokes
i maybe no understanding word you say
but i can translate your tone
and though i know i speak like baby
baby don’t think me weak
just because i don’t know how to saying
what it is i mean
i may never raise my voice
in your word or my words
because i know first hand
speaking louder is not speaking clearer
i say SPEAKING LOUDER IS NOT SPEAKING CLEAER
so though i can not showing with word
though your word on my tongue
is i sorry sound dumb
all the words
are on the tip of my brain
and believe me
i having way with word
i say believe me
i have a way with words

vH1 blogytellers

one day i'll learn how to write a post without directly referring to the post i'm writing.


one day i'll be able to release forms of creativity into the world without need of explanation.


one day i won't worry about being misunderstood.


but for whatever reason, today is not that day.


i don't know how to start an entry without apologizing for the content therein. it's totally stupid, totally unnecessary and only projects awkwardness and insecurity. the weird thing is i do this even in my own personal journal entries that only i read. every crisp new journal i purchase begins with some kind of apology for the fact that there are countless other crisp new journals with about a month's worth of entries that have long since been abandoned. every time i journal on my laptop i have to comment on the cliche doogie-howser-ness of it all. if i can't get past my own fears of misunderstanding me, how am i supposed to get past my fears of you misunderstanding me?? it's a sick sad cycle, i tell ya.


but i'll work on it, my friends. or rather, my friend aimee -- as i'm pretty sure you're the only person who will ever read this.

:)

my given name

crazy is a cutting word the connotation kills
the way it’s wielded like a weapon wounding me at will
floods of insecurity flow in while blood is spilled
to fill the void that dignity once but no longer filled

crazy is dismissive in its limited portrayal
the way it keeps me hidden thickly under crazy veil
cruelly compensating where compassion often fails
confining me unwillingly in ignorance’s jails

crazy is a dirty word defiling what is pure
it masturbates the tongues of those deceptively demure
tools of mastication used to mangle and obscure
effectively dismembering what stomachs can’t endure

crazy is so circular it works without intrusion
it sneaks into my psyche without warning of confusion
collaboration clean and quick in seamless execution
prophetically condemning me in my own persecution

A pain and pleasure to explain
Why crazy is my given name

i didn't know it

but i'm a poet.

one of the classes i'm taking is a poetry class. it's kinda weird to be required to write poetry but i suppose i can use all the exercise my creative muscles can get.

so i present to you the following:


The Best Defense

I was once told that the best way to defend yourself
when you’re about to be raped
is to defecate
and rub it all over your body
Thus rendering yourself undesirable
and your assailant flaccid
I should note, however
This advice was given to me by the type of woman
who forwards those email horror stories
The kind you’re supposed to
PASS ON TO ALL THE STRONG INDEPENDENT WOMEN YOU KNOW
Stories that have you locking your car when you pump your gas
So no sicko can sneak up in your back seat
And slash your Achilles heel when you least expect it
Stories that up pepper spray sales
And add paranoia to the preemptive fear
That that type of woman already feels
So that now when she walks to her car at night
The purse she already clutched close
Also contains a can of mace
alongside her tube of lip gloss
And now the two can click together in time
As said woman walks confidently
With keys like claws between her fingers
However
I am not said woman
I am not that type
And although the image has never left me
I’ve never been tempted to carry laxatives in my purse
Much less mace
My defenses are meant for offences far less violent
But violations none the less
So that when I feel threatened
When I fear my heart is about to be intruded upon
I’ve been known say the wrong things on purpose
Or say the right things with purpose
Or say too little but more often too much
To effectively
Cover myself in poo

honesty

billy joel might be a drunken super shmarmy hamptons manwhore but he sure had one thing right: honesty really is a lonely word.


my biggest struggle with my latest foray into the blogging world is my almost compulsive need to be absolutely, completely honest. the things i want to write about these days are pretty personal, bordering on actual vunerability. if you knew anything about me and my robotic nature, you would understand what a shocking thing that truly is.


as if that weren't crazy enough, it seems this new found vunerability is somehow seeping into my real life too. don't get me wrong, i'm pretty much an open book and i have very few secrets. in fact, the vast majority of secrets i keep belong to other people [secret squirrel in the house! WOOP WOOP!]. however, when it comes to sharing my actual FEELINGS? eww. gross. nooooo thank you.


and yet despite myself, i've been a veritable geyser of emotions these days. at least by my standards... i guess by anyone else's standards it's more like the weak dribble of water that barely made its way out of the elementary school water fountains of our youth. nevertheless, its weird and scary.


but it's an answer to prayer, so i guess i shouldn't complain.


this season of my life is officially dedicated to finding my medium. i've lived in extremes for most of my life and although it's been exciting and dramatic and mundane and relaxed... it's been anything but healthy. it's time to find my mature medium.


so goodbye, emotional unavailability. see ya, emotional fragility.


hello, medium. where the hell have you been all my life??
:)

. . . dot dot dot . . .

i know i said i'd try to blog more but every time i sit down to write, i get blocked. my problem isn't lack of material as i have a veritable card catalogue of topics i've been wanting to expound upon tucked away in this brain o' mine.

no, my problem is the same problem i always have. i can almost call it my only problem as it seems to be the root problem of pretty much every other problem i face these days:

over-thinking.

gaaaaaahhhhh...

it's stupid, i know. blogs are by nature impermanent, frivolous, and instant-gratification. so why think so much about something that matters so little?

i have no effing idea.

so i'm gonna start writing. even if i'm writing about how hard it is to write, i need to write. i need to quit holding my thoughts captive and set them free so they can roam free and be exposed for their inherent stupidityness. mmhmm. you heard me.

so whether it makes sense or not, whether anyone reads it or not, no matter how personal and impersonal or ruh-diculously self-conscious.

it brings to mind what i once said to a family friend as a recently potty-trained wee lass who required their assistance in the wiping of my toosh:

i'm very sorry for all this.

all to[e]' up

i would love to say that the horrifying image to your left is the aftermath of last thursday's injury. sadly, that's only partly true. other than the big ol' bruise on my baby toe, the rest of that ugly is just my good ol' natural ugly. except for the skanky pedicure; that's not technically naturally ugly but it is certainly ugly nonetheless.

as for the injury itself, using my extensive medical knowledge [i mean, i did just get like a D- in biophsychology] i think i've deduced that my pinky toe probably isn't broken after all. it's been a week since the car accident responsible for my boo-boo and i'm already able to move it around without any pain. now i'm no doctor but i'm pretty positive it takes more than a week to heal a broken bone. who knows? maybe i'm like wolverine and i've got some crazy healing abilities or something.

oh well... better safe than sorry right?

meanwhile, i'm still gonna say i broke it. owning up to a broken pinky toe is pathetic enough... having to admit that i have nothing more than a badly bruised pinky toe?? that's just wrong.

edit: undo

i just wrote and deleted an entire blog.


it wasn't computer error.
i didn't accidentally click something weird.
i just knew it had to be done.


the blog i just wrote and deleted had a very specific, subtly hidden message:
i'm great. please think more like me.


i didn't really mean for it to come out that way
but then again, i think somewhere deep down i did.


so i deleted it.
because if you were to take my advice and think more like me, it would probably be a DISASTER.






i'm not sure what i'm doing here.
i'm not sure what i'm trying to accomplish.
but i think for now, i'm thinking too much.

less is more

i need to work on being more concise, so here goes:

i can't believe it's only 10:30PM. maybe it's the three beers i drank with my labor day bbq meal but boy oh boy am i pooped.

it feels much later than it is somehow.

weird.

look at me.

bah joo seh yo...

'forgive me', in Korean. the literal meaning of this phrase can be loosely translated to say 'look at me' -- quite a fitting title for the following rant.

my biggest problem with this blog is lack of exposure. although in theory one should journal for one's own benefit, i'm afraid i'm far too vain to be satisfied with such a limited scope. i hate writing day in and day out [a heart wrenching three whole days, so far] knowing that my little posts may never get read. the only evidence i have to refute this fear comes in the form of a currency coveted by purveyors of social networks and online forums everywhere: the comment.

thus far, i have two comments to show for the three lengthy diatribes i have composed [not including this one, of course]. this is an extremely disconcerting ratio. i greatly appreciate the acknowledgment received from what may be my only two readers [allie and shelby, i love you both very much] but i'm afraid my ego can not be quelled by even the most heartfelt responses of only two individuals. after all, in the world of online networking, isn't it always about quantity not quality? aren't we all more concerned that the box on the right side of our myspace page can enumerate our several hundred "friends" than whether or not those "friends" are anything more than passing acquaintance? and doesn't our heart sink when there is no bright red message on the left side of our homepage to alert of us "new comments!"? it's like the disappointments we felt circa 1995 when there was no jovial greeting of "You've got mail!" to justify sitting through the lengthy and all-too-familiar whirrings and buzzings of our old friend the dial-up modem. but i digress...

what is it about comments and how is it that they have more in common with crack than just the letter 'c'? i think the answer lies in a very basic human instinct: the desire to be known.

comments are validation. it's an acknowledgement of existence -- a reward for the bravery that exposing one's identity to the world wide web requires. regardless of their actual content, each comment seems to say, "I know you're out there," "I see you," "I hear you," and the best even say "I understand you." and isn't that what we all want? to be understood? to know that somewhere out there someone feels what we feel, hurts the way we do and can prove that we aren't actually as crazy as we think we are? it's no wonder that the internet now serves as the middleman to all manor of communities both great and small, common and obscure, seen and unseen. with just a few simple clicks and the right keywords inputted into the correct search engine, even the most outcast outcast can find that he/she/[none/both of the above] is in fact, not alone.

so is this desire for such superficial validation healthy? debatable. but when one finds themselves deprived of this attention, how does one cope? where does one go for the acceptance one so desires? how does one stop referring to themselves in pretentious pronouns such as 'one'?

simple: find satisfaction within. although i think she may have been exaggerating a bit, i think whitney houston may have been on to something with the whole 'learning to love yourself' thing. i don't know that it was the greatest love of all, but it's certainly up there. the thing is i shouldn't need the validations of comments to promote my writing. i do, after all, have a desire to write in some kind of professional capacity one day so in theory, i should welcome the practice with or without the acknowledgement. i shouldn't seek the comments that tell my ego that i'm a good writer and instead be satisfied by the simple fact that the act of writing itself is making me a better writer.

and yet, the spirit is willing and the flesh is so weak.

so my friends, please forgive me.

bah joo seh yo.

please, look at me.

internal injuries

i am a fiercely independent individual.

while some struggle with the trappings of codependency, i find myself constantly fighting against my natural inclinations and literally forcing myself to accept the help of others. soliciting that help is an even larger hurdle that i'm still navigating all the time.

all that to say i feel like having this minor but nonetheless incapacitating injury really REALLY sucks. as if that weren't enough, i'm here for another week sans my own transportation and nashville just happens to be the kind of city where lack of a car can be equated to lacking a limb. basically, i'm really frustrated.

i'm aware that there may very well be a broken bone somewhere in the purple mass currently masquerading as my right food and should therefore take it easy. but being the independent woman that i am, the worst part of my particular injury is that it doesn't really feel that bad. it just feels like an oversized bruise and nothing more. i mean it looks pretty awful [you can scroll down for a visual reference] but it really doesn't hurt at all. i'm tempted to go against my better judgement and walk around on it anyway. i don't mind sitting on the couch all day by choice but knowing that i have to sit around all day is torture.

the temptation to walk on my foot is only reinforced by the lack of immediate consequence. the few times i have walked on it today there were no flashes of pain and in fact no pain at all. if i hadn't been given specific instructions from my personal nurse [my bff, Lydia] i'd probably be out somewhere livin' it up. okay, so maybe there's a good chance that i would've spent all day on the couch anyway... but that's besides the point.

i've been given an entire day to do nothing but catch up on the second season of 'big love', watch a bunch of romantic comedies, and THINK. the thinking was mostly about this business of internal injury. you may be able to see where i'm going with this metaphor but humor me.

isn't it funny how we can sometimes be knowingly broken inside and yet do things to worsen the injury because of the lack of immediate consequence? go with me on this one people... if you're anywhere near as hyper analytical as i am, you've thought about your issues and with minimal prompting can articulate the specifics of your baggage. and yet despite this awareness, you continue in your dysfunction because there's no immediate consequence to deter you. in fact, many times the only effects you feel are falsely rewarding leading to a cycle of positive reinforcement for dysfunctional behavior. which leads me back to my opener...

i'm a fiercely independent individual. i don't depend on many people and therefore, i'm not let down by many people. i've got more automatic self-defense mechanisms than i'm even aware of and believe me, i'm very aware of a whole lot of them. and yet this continued self-preservation has done nothing but leave me isolated and should i chose to continue down this path, i could very well end up alone. but despite it all, i keep doing the little things that keep my heart protected but leave me more injured in the end.

so for now, i'm gonna at least try to stay off my foot and let it heal a bit. as far as the metaphorical internal injury... well, i'm still working on that one.

this lil piggy went wee wee wee...

... and got its stupid ass all broke and stuff.

okay, so that's not the real story.

and no, it wasn't a dance floor injury. that seems to be everyone's first assumption.

actually, it's the lone injury sustained in a little fender-bender yesterday. my friend abby and i were on our way to a benefit she threw and well, long story short we bumped into a car that had bumped into a car and it all happened during rush hour on the interstate. thankfully, my lil pinky toe was the only one harmed in the incident. i mean, i did sorta crack the windshield with my forehead. but no worries, it looks a lot worse than it felt. the blow was softened by the headband i was wearing so thank you, hipsters of the world, for starting such a beneficial trend. also, i happened to bump my head at the exact location of what was as of yesterday my second worst injury to date [just a little scar, nothing heinous].

so now in addition to the handicap of not having a car in nashville, i'm now hobbling around on crutches as well. i should probably note that i'm already clumsy enough as it is so adding crutches to the mix is now both physically taxing and pretty funny to watch. the good news is i have a pretty good attitude about the whole thing.

[me and anne marie, limping around the city]

welcome back, blogger

i decided that i need to start blogging regularly again. there was a time in my life when the sun rose and set over xanga and everyday i was posting whatever happened to come to mind. over time, my patience waned and a certain level of self-consciousness set in reducing my internet writings to the occasional [understatement of the century] bulletin on myspace. but there is an impermanence to bulletins that i find disconcerting. some of my greatest quips and feats of wordplay came and went, lost amongst so many event announcements, pleas for comments, and invitations to meet the h0tte$t l@d!eZ and obtain L@te$t r!ngt0nes. i thought perhaps facebook would appease my need for public expression but i was mistaken and have thus given in to my mysterious need to articulate each and every thought and feeling that comes to me. this forum will undoubtedly be therapeutic for me personally but i hope it serves to enlighten but more importantly, challenge anyone who happens upon it to examine their own lives as well.

let me make it clear, however, that the kind of self-examination i hope to promote is not one that leads to self-absorption; instead, let it be a means to an end, that end being love, both of God and others. i know that despite all the trappings of hyper analysis, it has served an invaluable purpose in my life; it has helped me to be patient, understanding, slow to anger... the Biblical definitions of love. granted, it has also contributed to my crippled ability to be purely emotional at times, but these are all things i'm working through and i'm sure that future posts will address this particular plight in great detail.

so congratulations on discovering this blog, i hope at the very least it makes you laugh and at its best, it makes you a better person today than you were yesterday.