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   Too long away. I am aware of this. I have been trying to find myself, my place in things.
Its funny. I say that like its something new, in fact I've spent most of my adult life doing it. Sometimes the answer seems close enough to touch. I can see it shining right there! It saying "come on! run!" only it stays just out of reach, the next day or even later that same day its just a memory.
   My motivations for writing these days are questionable to me. I have learned loving to read doesn't mean you can write. I have also found out the things you like to read aren't necessarily what you can write well if at all. Still even with all those negative thoughts floating around I write. The urge is no less consuming and everyday in some form I am writing. If I've learned nothing else this semester I've learned a writer writes and the only way to get better is to write!
   Things seem to be moving into a non fiction arena right now. I look around and I want to talk about what I see. The Immediacy of it is appealing though finding an original tact is hard. Maybe the secret Is to just write it instead of trying to look for a hook or angle.
   My family is as content as it ever was and my thoughts dark but probably because i choose to look at things that way.
   My best friend won't even speak to me anymore, but in all fairness I stopped speaking first. I felt I had lost the support of the one person I could count on, the one I needed most at a particularly turbulent time in my life. It never entered my mind how they might feel about the whole thing. I was mostly concerned with being comforted. Selfish I know. Anyway some obvious truths were spoken and predictably I shut down, being childish is one of my many faults I sometimes perceive as strength.
   I used to be able to make others happy with no problem but could not do the same for myself. nowadays I make others as miserable as myself. Progress?