I sit down to write, and I am aware that it is a volatile state of mind in which I do so. I brog a fairly open glimpse into the happenings of my life, for whom, I am not quite sure. I do not know if four people read my site on a regular basis, or if it there are fifty, or if there are a hundred. Mostly, I do this for myself, because it’s something I picked up in 2001, and after this much time of fairly regular writing, I just can’t bring myself to ever stop completely. It’s like a pet, that no matter what, I can’t neglect it, even if it pisses me off.
For those of you who actually do read my writing, and have had difficulty reading in between the lines, here is a brief summary: a girl showed up on my long-dormant radar, there was a spark, a brief period of burning, and then it was subdued; and slowly suffocated. And today, eight weeks later, extinguished.
And writing about it seems like a good idea, for some reason. This is one thing I’m doing to cope with it, and move on.