I was in a relatively good mood today. The weather was nice once again, and I got to talk to Nick about what we were all going to be doing when I get to the Golden Coast. I still want to make that perfume I mentioned in yesterday’s post. I want to gather the wildflowers by the seaside in Sydney. Those flowers are in full bloom right now, and they will be so nice for the next four months. I want to get to the batch in the mid-summer, so they will put out better, stronger scents. I have a feeling I will be doing this the Friday before we leave. I hope Mandy likes them!

I’m still cleaning up after my harasser. The lies were against me eleven years ago, after a two-year tango with my harasser lying to me. Ten years. That’s too long to be thinking about things like this. I should have let it go. I was doing so great, even though said racist harasser commented nearly fifty times an hour, for twenty-four hours from the same IP and computer. Damn. I attracted a shut in! But today, all of that is gone, forgotten. I am saddened that I lost all of my first round of archives. I’m going to print out some more pictures that my mother wanted and hope that she doesn’t destroy this batch. I’m unusually tired tonight and it’s not even 8pm yet. What is wrong with me?! Speaking of my mother, this is probably the last batch I do for her for a long time. I found out that she stole more of my medicine for her meth-addict sister, so I get to go to work suffering.

I called Nick in tears over this, and he said that he would get me another bottle or two of the syrup, and we could be together on the plane going over. Just us and Chloe. I could sip or chug as much of that syrup that I could take. I smiled at that thought.

When we get home from this magically summer ride, we’re supposed to start prepping to go to Las Vegas! Another road trip! Good thing I am up for these things! I feel so lucky and so blessed, even if I am one kidney short and my heart is still weak, and I am exhausted. I will get to Las Vegas and I will see Mandy. Those are just two of the things that I want to do now that the only thing holding back is my own tight grip on the railing to the stairs. If I leave, my place will get robbed, my pets killed, and my house trashed; possibly burned down. Or maybe the fire won’t happen, and someone comes in and steals our computers, DVD-R, flat screen HD TVs, Wii, you know, all the stuff we worked very hard to have and got with in a few years of being motivated.

I keep thinking about seeing my friend there with me in Las Vegas. Maybe Dallas. I have a seminar there about blood cancers, what treatment worked best for me, what to expect, and what parents and care givers can expect when their child is on chemotherapy. I usually hate these seminars, but this time, I am looking for an excuse, any excuse to get out of the house for a little while, drive down town and come home. I’ll feel like I’ve had a “real job” as my harasser says. Because a job should never be something one enjoys to do for larger salaries than some boring cashier at a video store. But I guess they truly value their child-hating cashier who laughs hysterically when kids get hut in the store. Make snide observations and then check their name when the pull out their credit card, to see how much more money they have. Strange that for someone who was running the family into poverty but was going to be the World’s Next GOD, they never finished their degree. They just got a professional degree and they’re working in a Blockbuster video along side people who are physically 16, 17, 18, 19, not just mentally.

Yes, the person who made fun of me for working at Arby’s when I was 16, is in their 40′s today, and they still work as a drone in a Blockbuster store, where they have been since 2003. It’s great, right? I got a PhD while they were on the web making me look bad. I ignored them. They lost their jobs, lost their schooling, their spouses, and here I am, independently working on my own research, research that was unique to the University before I came here. I have been doing work like that since I was thirty. My learning days and test taking seminars are over. I teach at those now. I have three to go and teach at, get my complimentary meals, snacks, and I can leave without cleaning up. Perfect.

Not as perfect as being on the Golden Coast, but I’ll take it. *all smiles*

I didn’t venture out, but stayed inside with the windows and doors open, letting the warm breeze sweep though the house, cleaning out the dirty air, and replacing it with fresh air. The zing zing made working on anything a little harder. I feel like my foot is swollen, but I don’t believe it is.

With all the good things that happened to me today, I am still dreading next week and the start of dialysis. Dialysis is what caused the septic infection that eventually led to Jess’ death. His body couldn’t fight off the infection, so the doctor did not supply any antibiotics. They went ahead with the transplant, though. Smooth move, doc! There’s that tiny thought in t he back of my mind that I may or may not end up like Jess. In so much pain from sepsis that I swallow too much codine or too many Percs and I don’t wake up. Champ offered to bring me over some barbs. No thanks. I have enough to worry about, with how I could fight off the pain, should I get an infection.

All that being said, I am excited to get the first dialysis over with, because that means I can board the plane to the Golden Coast and nothing will stop me from being with my man and family. It’s summer in Australia right now. Where I am is about to get covered with several feet of snow. I still have plenty of time off, and nothing to occupy my mind. I have read Chloe every book that is appropriate for her, played dolls and video games with her, read just as many books to the boys, and played hide and seek with them, letting them win a few times, of course, that the three kids are tired of playing. Ashe asked me if I was going to start dinner soon because he wanted his supper and to go to bed! How many other people have the luxury of their four year old asking them for bedtime?! Didn’t think so.

I myself am going stir crazy. I finished my spiral notebook that I started back in October, I started a new journal, and even ordered a new one from Amazon. I’ve done all I can do with this site and the design. I have looked through more layouts, chosen one for March, and then I actually turn off my computer. I have watched every single show on cable in HD several times over. I am bored with everything. Bored and brilliant is a really bad combination. When I get those two together, I usually end up having a seizure and wake up sucking some stranger’s cock in the men’s room of the Cherry pub, stoned off my ass on a narcotic or two, in the early stages of alcohol poisoning, only to stagger out and be informed by Champ that I had a fourth man who wanted to take a turn. Whoa. I have called all the friends I have numbers for. I brushed the dog. The kitchen is spotless. I have an open bottle of Jack Daniels here, and I have had several drinks from it. Oh downward spiral, take me on another magic carpet ride…

Nick finally called me last night. He said they weren’t going to take me out of the filming. I was secretly relieved. I really wanted to work on that with him. The director is just going to shoot some other scenes that do not include me. I really want to go back to the gardens there in Sydney. I want to relive the beautiful flowery trails, collect wildflowers and have them pressed and made into perfume. That’s always been a favourite thing for me to do in Australia. I want to make a bottle for my friend Mandy, too. I hope she likes it!

While I was going through my meds this morning, I noticed that my fentanyl was gone. A whole five patches. I found out that my loving mother gave them to her drug addicted sister because she “needed them more than I did”. What? Really? All that is wrong with my aunt is she’s a chronic drug abuser. I really have a broken back and tumors that are causing me horrible pain. After the argument, I locked my med box in the trunk in the closet. Double locked, I might add. Let’s see anyone break into that! She started to tell me that maybe I should move out and earn my own money for my medicine myself. What kind of a selfish bitch was I to totally rely on my husband to work and support me and my ‘drug habit’ I had because of my cancer diagnosis. Wow. I’m not allowed to rely on my husband to buy my meds and work to support the household? I should move out of my own home? What the hell is wrong with her family!

That trip cannot get here fast enough. Have a great rest of the weekend, everyone! I have some pictures to upload after a while from when I tore apart my TimeCapsule and old iMac and harvested their drives. Now if I can only get some USB cords and connect them, I can get my data back. I’ll be so glad to get it, too. Never ever rely on media that you cannot connect to your main computer. I learned that the hard way.

I’m off to finish the bottle of Jack Daniels!

I got a letter from my lawyer telling me that we had lost the case, but we’re going to appeal. Like a dumbass, I left the letter out and Nick found it. This really upset Nick. He went so far as to say that he wasn’t going to the Golden Coast tomorrow. Wait. That’s tomorrow? I had completely forgotten. I then had to break the news to him that I couldn’t make it until Saturday of next week. Of course he wanted to know why. I said I had appointments that had come up, and he pleaded that we had made plans to go to the Golden Coast months ago. I agreed, but if I miss this appointment, the other party in our case may be able to win by default. I didn’t go into too much details. By this time Nick was in tears, and I was the Bad One. I am still gathering information, if not for myself, than for the sake of having these therapies go as smoothly as possible. I feel if I don’t piss them off I can stay home for the majority of the testing.

All week has been strange. Nick wrote this really awful song, more of an eulogy to me, than a song, and it bothered me. Many things about this week has bothered me. Group therapy bothered me. NA bothered me. Listening to Sister Rose tell me how Chloe is trying to dig her earrings out bothered me. I don’t want to go through with this whole therapy thing again, because the last time I went, it did not help me. I know what’s wrong. I have PTSD and I live with an abusive person, unable to live my life the way I really want to. My best friend is dead and I spend hours after work at his grave. None of this is healthy, but it’s what I do. It’s part of who I am. It’s something I have never had to deal with before. I know that I am acting out again, and that worries me. I see changes in me that I never thought I would have to see before. Whether they are positive changes or not, I am unsure. Time will tell.

My (asshole!) doctor wanted to blame the chemicals that I work with. They can cause severe kidney damage. Sure. If I had worked there for fifty years. He then blames the metformin that I have been on for the past four years. Well, he wanted me to take it because it causes weight loss. He also told me there were no horribly wrong side effects. Um, sure. See, I knew better. If I were an everyday person I could have a lawsuit against him at the moment, but as a bio-chemist, I knew the risks of taking the medicine and I still took it. Having my mother tell me that at 173 lbs, losing 30 lbs since Halloween night, made me less of an embarrassment to her. Of course she’s in her 60s and living off me, but I’m the embarrassment because I was a few pounds overweight. Technically for my height I wasn’t even obese, but I stopped eating, got depressed, and here I am. Though my loving doctor and mother want me down to 100 lbs even by summer. I was encouraged that I could do this. Ever see a 100 lb 6′ 1″ person? We don’t look good. We look like we survived the holocaust. We have no energy. Ten years ago I was down to 100 – 90 lbs and I looked like total shit. No tits. No energy. Constant pains. But damn, I wasn’t an embarrassment to my mother, her family, or my doctor. The people whom I should have truly been trying to please weren’t interested in my weight; I’ve always been perfect to them.

I was put on a double transplant list yesterday. Monday I pick up my pager to wait for the news that there is a kidney or lung (yes, those are fucked up too). I’m not sure if this will affect my trip to Sydney, or the trip to Las Vegas in March. I’ve already paid for my tickets and I want to go. My plane to Sydney is supposed to leave on Thursday morning and I return on Sunday the fifth. I had everything planned, from a new camera to a ton of GBs of space to take pictures and video. I even stocked up on spare batteries and a fast charger so I wouldn’t run out of juice on the trip. Then there’s my “artisan” make up because I was supposed to be a part of the filming we’re going to. I can’t get on camera with a dialysis cath in my arm with the bruises to go with it. This all has screwed up my entire pleasure in looking forward to the trip; I haven’t been to Australia for pleasure since 2003. Dennis was also looking forward to seeing DW again. I guess he can do that without me there, though. Nothing would be stopping him. I haven’t told anyone about this, other than posting it here, for people to sympathise with me over it. Let’s have that Pity Party for me!

On a lighter note, I have a couple of family members who are going to take blood tests and such to see if they match and I can get a kidney from them, possibly. I know my cousin BJ got tested. I’m not sure if I truly need my lung(s) replaced. That’s one of the things we’re going to discuss at the doctor’s office Monday afternoon.

Oh, and my TimeCapsule died and went to hell a week ago. I’ve gone through the motions of removing the hard drive in it (and have the pictures to prove it), and now I am waiting on my check to go into my card so I can get a cord for it. I have another TimeCapsule, but I can’t get the computer to recognise it. I hope that wasn’t the error with my older drive. After harvesting that drive, I feel as though I can harvest the drive from my old strawberry iMac, just to get the data off  it. That would be pretty awesome if I could get that drive too. I may update next with pictures of me harvesting my TimeCapsule drive and the iMac drive, if I can get it out. Right now I have to sit at my desk and update, and that’s a bitch. I usually update from my bed while I’m watching TV. Not anymore! Not until I can figure out how to get that TimeCapsule working. Any suggestions? Advice on anything I’ve posted? Email me if you do. Or leave a comment. Whichever is good for you.

Don’t forget to add my feeds:

here, there, and facebook or just plain add me on facebook. I’ll love you forever!

It’s not that I’m not skilled at autopsies, nor do I dislike doing them. Nothing satisfies my curiosity than finding out why or how someone died, but there comes a time when you want to draw a line on what corpse you have to slice up, and unfortunately, in my profession, I do not get that option. It was “do it or lose your license”. Nice people. Half my crew chickened out at the last moment, but that didn’t phase me at all. I’d prefer to do the operation on my own; nothing distracts me more than wondering if someone else has found something I’ve possibly missed in the micro-alleys of the human body. I just hope those that chose to run don’t think they one upped me.

I finished the job, kept my license with flying colours, and then came home to take a bath, wishing the pain and shock would run down the drain with with soapy water. It’s not that easy. It never is.

Okay. That’s all I can blog tonight. Till we meet again!

This is going to be one of the hardest posts I have ever written, but it shouldn’t be cooped up inside me. There is a good possibility that I am wrong and that I am over-reacting. But there is an even better chance that I am not wrong and I will be facing one of the hardest things I will ever have to go through.

Late Saturday night/early Sunday morning, I had had some drinks, was feeling giggly, and cleaned out some of my drawers in the bathroom. It’s easier for me to throw away clutter and junk that I would otherwise keep, for sentimental reasons and nothing more. Like my collection of empty containers in the bathroom. Yes, at one time, I had the first bottle of contact lens solution that I ever used. It has since been tossed out on my tipsy late-night cleaning. Which brings me to Saturday night. I found the box of pregnancy tests that my nephew and his friends bought back in 2007, as a joke, and had him take a pregnancy test. When the results came back positive, we got him screened further only to find out that his cancer had spread to his testicles. There were two more tests in the box. Giggly, and shrugging it off as “no way”, I went ahead and took out a test, hiked up my night shirt, hovered over the toilet, and peed on the stick. Shock of all shocks when it came back positive.

Or was that a shocker?

To the untrained eye, yes it was. On October 31, 2007, I had a hysterectomy when I had my boys. So that would make the test defective, right? Possibly. There are many other things that a pregnancy test can detect other than pregnancy. In men it can detect testicle cancer, if the test comes back positive. In women, it can detect hormone imbalances. In a woman who has had a hysterectomy and sex in the last four to six months, it can detect a tubal pregnancy.

Like a dip shit, I posted to my Twitter and people were congratulating me all weekend. I felt guilty Sunday morning and a little annoyed since more than one person who congratulated me also sent me “Get Well Soon!” and “It’s A Pair of Boys!” cards to me when I had the hysterectomy. I’d say that since I opened up my Twitter just two months after the hysterectomy, and that I had made it public in my journal, where many of my Twitter friends came from, they either just weren’t paying attention, or I really do blend in with all the other bricks in the wall.

Pregnancy would explain the vomiting within a few minutes of waking up, the frequent urination that woke me up in the middle of the night more than one night in a row, the constant nausea, the getting sick to my stomach when I think of certain foods, the annoying and constant hiccuping that is only stopped with quick gulps of water.

The pregnancy tests were expired, but I know there was a small chance something was wrong, and I have been on strike from seeing my regular doctor for about a year, so I was not getting my regular check ups. After dropping Chloe off at school this morning, and making my way to work, I sat in my car for a few minutes, and then called my doctor. I told the receptionist what had been going on, minus the drinking and house cleaning, and she said that I would need both a blood test and ultra sound, to make sure it was pregnancy and not just a hormone imbalance. I agreed to a Friday appointment, hung up, and went inside to get my schedule for the work week. Luckily, I am not scheduled to work Fridays, and I seemed to relax a little.

Until tonight.

While I was undressing for my bath, I thought I felt something flutter in my stomach. It wasn’t gas, but almost like a baby shifted. I played it off as my imagination running away with me. After the bath, I glanced down at what very well could be a little person growing inside of me. A little person who would not make it past the weekend, at best. For the first time in a long time, I wished that I could get pregnant. I wished I could be able to carry the pregnancy to term. There were so many things I wished I could do then, that I teared up. I couldn’t look at myself anymore. I turned away from the mirror to dry off and get dressed for bed. For me, a tubal pregnancy wouldn’t end in a live birth, with all of three out of millions of tubals recorded in medical history, and I believe that life begins at conception. I believe a life inside someone, even if that life is not medically normal, is still a life and when it is ended, a life is ended. I then thought of PoRo and how she wanted to live more than anything. I was silently crying, tears falling heavily from my eyes and into the bathroom rug, as I dried off my feet.

Ending a pregnancy, even if it were to be ended on its own, is hard for me. I have gone through this before, and just as before, my doctor will not remove the ovary responsible for the egg releases that continue to become fertilized. It’s not right. Not morally, not physically, not emotionally. My doctor continues to tell me that he cannot have the ovary removed until I am forty years old. That’s another nine years I have to be wary of when I have sex.

I put off posting about this because I have told no one, face to face, or even over the phone. Dennis has yet to know. I don’t know how I could keep something like this from him, but here I am. I know it’s wrong to keep secrets like this, and I felt horrible that I was making a decision like this while he was away, but the selfish part of me keeps saying termination would be the best path to take so my little ones with me, who made it through birth, could survive as well. As the kids get older and discover what has happened, I dread the questions this will raise in them. The “Whys” and “How Comes” do not settle well with this. How do you explain that you terminated a child, disowned and gave up on it, on a real, living person, before you ever met them? Before you were even examined to confirm that you were healthy enough to carry the baby to full term? That same part of me tells me that after what I have gone through this spring and summer, it would be best to terminate, if for no other reason than the date of conception must have beed during or shortly after my transplant. I was exposed to things that no expecting mother should be exposed to, and who’s to say the baby would turn out healthy? I am simply torn in deciding what to do, and I know that no matter what I do, there will always be the “what ifs” that will haunt me for a long time afterwards.

As I sat on the edge of my bed in my clean, soft jammies, I did something I have not done in a long time. I prayed. I prayed to not be pregnant. I have never prayed for anything like that before, feeling that I would just be wasting God’s time by praying when all I have ever needed I could make due myself, but that time. That time, I did not give up my space to a teenager coming home from the prom or a frat night. That time, I took the time slot. I prayed to not be pregnant, for the test to be faulty, and for a peaceful nine years, reproductive-wise. I told God I was sorry for all that I had done in failing as a parent, but there was no need to punish me further with a tubal. I asked for forgiveness, with the promise to follow up by seeing a priest Wednesday night.

I hope my prayers were heard.

All that tinkering led me to putting up a new page, and get my archives working again. So be sure and read my new page and my archives, if you’ve got a few hours on your hands!

The summer is finally winding down. We had some severe weather last night that went on for almost an hour or so. My air conditioner system was frozen up (typical of triple degree temperatures!), so I sweltered in the hot, dark night, watching Saw 3D and writing a list of things to take to my doctor tomorrow. I also rummaged through some of my stuff looking for the loose ends that I needed to clean up before school starts this fall.

Tonight, Chloe wanted her hair washed and conditioned with the coconut shampoo and conditioner. She also wanted to use the Caress bath wash because she liked how it made momma smell after a bath. I told her she smelled like coconut flowers. That made her night and she skipped away in her pony-print pajamas, holding her pink bear. I am so good at this mommy stuff sometimes!

Little James is sick again. He’s not getting out of bed much and complaining about being “warm all over”. So it’s off to the doctor’s with him on Thursday afternoon. I’m afraid he has a bacterial infection somewhere. I’ve given him some Tylenol for the fever and the pain, but that was a few hours ago. He’s back complaining of the pain and warmth again. I’m making him some sweet lemon tea to settle his stomach for now.

Dennis is somewhat ignoring me. He won’t answer his phone, and he refuses to call me except at times when he knows that I can’t talk on the phone. It really bothers me that he is doing this. I almost have to ask if Trevor is back. It’s times like this when I ask God for help, but it has been so long since God has answered me that I sometimes wonder if God has turned His back on me. So many times I have asked for His help with my marriage, He has not answered me, nor has the situation improved any. I know that I am just impatient, but I don’t want to think that way anymore. I don’t want to think that God has turned his back on me. God doesn’t do these things. I am looking for Scripture that has something to do with marriage worries, but I cannot find any. If anyone wants to help point me to some Scriptures that have helped them with relationship worries, I’d appreciate it.

Yes, I know that Google.com exists, but I would feel better to get some live feedback from people that, I assume, have been reading about my situation for the last few years. Ever since our little PoRo died, our marriage hasn’t been the same. I sometimes wonder if the relationship was falling apart because she died, or was it falling apart all along and we just didn’t know about it?

After almost nine years of asking and begging for information, my dad finally told me what happened to my little sister. I always was told that she committed suicide, and I raised awareness for years about young adults and suicide, only to find out yesterday that she died of an accidental overdose of methadone and Xanax. Dad still says that it was a suicide, but I told him that it sounded more like an accidental overdose to me. She planned to wake up the next day. That doesn’t sound suicidal to me.

In her honor, I am refusing narcotics, norco, percocet, vicodin and fentanyl all day tomorrow. I started at 9:30pm tonight, and so far so good. Even if I have bad withdrawals tomorrow, I am not having one drop or one pill of a narcotic. Just my blood pressure pills and my anti-depressant. Nothing more, nothing less. I also encourage anyone else out there who has had a loved one die from narcotic abuse or overdose to skip taking pain medication tomorrow, if you take it for pain related reasons. Just refuse the doses. Good luck. God Bless.

It brings me back to a decade ago, when blogger.com malfunctioned due to one of the biggest internet hoaxes of the decade climaxing on this day. Really shook up the blogging world. Really crashed blogger.com and blogspot.com. I remember that was my first real crash course in installing Greymatter on my site. I hated dealing with a third-party company, and vowed off Blogger forever. Today, however, it's my hosting company going cucu on me. Can't really complain about the third party people when the second parties are laying down on the job, can you?

I find it interesting that Janna St. Crazy chose today to post. There's a method to her posting lately. More attention to her catalyst and more attention to her batshittery. But her last few posts have a date theme on them. Maybe it's her subconscious, or maybe she knows exactly what she's doing, but I have a pretty good memory when it comes to people and their fucketry. Janna made her first blog on May 10, 2001. She skipped the 11th, 12th, and 13th. Then came back on the 14th, the day of Blogging Hoaxes everywhere, to post her bogus "I am James' biological mother, and I knew that when I joined this board of brilliant college students last fall" shit story. She really knew how to make us eat out of her hand! Wanna mindfuck some college students? Tell them they're super-smart. After that, everything you say to them will be gospel. They'll defend you to the end, if you can convince them you think they're the smartest people known to mankind.

Or at least that's what our group was like. Maybe we were the only group of college students known to suddenly become religious and beg God to let us pass every time we had an exam, but that's who we were. Also, the people on that board were close. But we had our problems. The biggest being that we were all "unstable", emotionally, at best. At medium range, we were off our fucking rocks. Anything in the real would could and did set us off, and our board was filled with that glee. Maybe that's why Janna chose to fuck us all over. I dunno. Don't care, either.

Coming home from my transplant, I found a shocking secret amongst the "group" again. James has attempted again, and got caught. Again. My actual comment to this was "if you're going to continue to attempt suicide, at least GET IT RIGHT!" Yeah, bitch, I know. Don't care, either. James knows I love him, he knows I care, but why does he want to die so badly? Why again? It made more sense the first time around when there was that emotional crashing down of "who am I?", verses this time when he had three little ones and a wife, plus a great career. Yes, it broke my heart again. This time because I felt that the first time, I saved his life. This time? I wasn't there. It was his wife who made the 911 call.

James tried to mimick Jess and Chris, with a little kick in the crotch to me. Percocet. Fifty of them. Don't know where he got them, don't know what he was thinking, and in a way, I don't care. I care that he is safe now, and his therapy is being adjusted to this new twist in the road that is his life. He went wrong in taking the medicine with hard liquor. That always, always, always made him puke. When the vomit turned from his wife's dinner to what she said "looked like pills", she called 911. Ten of the fifty pills had already absorbed, so I was told, there was little damage done, nothing permanent other than the Tylenol content of the pills, and things would return to normal in a month.

Only they haven't.

This time people aren't forgiving James as they did the last time. Last time there was a purpose. This time, it's just that unstability kicking in.

Being the scientist, James actually asked me today why he didn't die. Chris and Jess died within a few minutes to hours of their overdosing. Chris was a heavy drinker. Certainly he had some of that in his system! Yes, he did. But at the same time, Chris and Jess were on heavy anti-emetrics. They couldn't throw up. James' flat monotone of "Oh." Made me want to join the other side. He didn't want to die. I knew that when he didn't ask me where to get anti-emetrics, where he had asked me how I got Percocet, back in January. He wanted to play with fate and karma. Play with fire if you want, James. Just don't expect me to be the enchantress.

So…

Yes, I'm a little mad, a lot heart broken, and a tad sleepy.

All James' fault. All my fault.

It's been said that I need normal friends. But think about it. Would normal friends be this much fun? Could I really write a 1000 word blog post about my adventures and feelings of normal people? Nope. Probably a five word post: "Went to the movies today." Normality is not for me. I've grown acustom to being the rock in the churning seas that are the lives of the people I have come to know and love over the past twelve years. People that I got acquainted with through fonts on a pixelated screen and later through heafty cell phone bills and eventually meeting up in New York or Chicago to play around under the city lights. There's never a dull moment with these people. Literally. But ther's extreme loyalty amongst us.

Broken or not, I have decided I like my life. I like who I am, who I have become. I like where I am going, where I have been. I wouldn't want to trade my life experiences for anything. Can you say the same?

Falling asleep here, and I still have to wash up for he night. G’Night Every one!