Lover, you shouldn't have come over.
Anger. Denial. Accusations. Epiphany. Accountability. Release. Sorrow. Manic joy. Excess. Confusion. Numbness. Quiet. I am a textbook case, but that chapter has ended. Where do I go from here?

I have been fighting my inner angels. Too feminine, too woo-woo, too grey. I'm far too rational to pay attention to that pesky intuition (I've been swatting it away like so many Georgia mosquitos). I was the epitomy of the Western mindset: if I couldn't find a scientific theorem to explain it, then it must not exist. I was the antithesis of faith. But suddenly the pendulum has swung, and I'm a revolving door of The Unknown. Got a guru? Nike-wearing suicidals touting your grand visions? Hey...is that Kool-Aid? Great, come on in, I'm thirsty.

But now the critters have come home to roost. They are, in no particular order: self-doubt, discontent, aimlessness, selfishness, and lack-of-purpose. But how can I seek a higher purpose? You can't show me the evidence or do the math to demonstrate the validity of your faith; you can't prove it. God does not compute.

So now you're saying, "Hey! I thought this was a blog! Why are you getting all heavy-like?" And the truth is that I can't help it. It's my nature, my natural state that I've fought against for so many years. I'm a Pisces, a drama queen, really. You just can't tell, because I don't take Prozac and I don't weep at weddings, and I smile every time you see me. You just don't always see me.

Cause it's not too late...