December 27th, 2001

As you can see it's been a few years since I've written in this journal. Another lifetime? I really couldn't tell you.

I'm sitting down at Scotty's. If you don't immediately recall that's the bar down from my apartment in Portland. I was going to write "down from my first apartment" but the world--life--seems so random that there's no way to know if I'll live any place else in Portland or not I really don't know what the future holds.

I'm sitting here because things have been topsy-turvy.

Again. Will it ever be different?

There's an avelanche of past relationships heaped upon me, making it difficult to breath. What is life about? What does it mean to live a good life? Have I even glimpsed that or am I horrible deamon plight on everyone's life that I touch?

The questions are enumerable!

What are the answers. Has anyone really done anything to me or have I done everything to myself?

You know, years ago I would have been sitting here and lonely hoping in some kind of fantasy world that someeone would come up to me and save me from my feelings. This is the first in a long time (that I recall) where I feel that old thing upon me.

So where do I go from here? As so often before the answer is: home. But why when so many places do not feel like home? Or is it my protector or is it my cage?

Why is it so difficult to be empathic? Why can't I be blind to all the ups and downs of the masses? I've come so far but have I come at all? Who is the right person?

Invisible fantasy come save me from myself.

Before it's too late...

What is Christmas? What is celebration? What is sorrow? What is joy? It's all the same then who am I?