wealth.

i'm rich.

i was given the most beautiful little girl in the world last year, a couple weeks before christmas. she's gorgeous. she's everything i ever wanted. she's the apple of my eye. she is my universe. she's every single type chiche you can think of. but she's one of a kind. and when i look at her, i feel like everything i ever went through in life all added up and amounted to her. she was meant to be mine and i was meant to be hers. she calls for me when she is distressed. she finds comfort when she finds me. i feel peace knowing that i was able to give her what was best for her. i somehow feel grateful when she is happy. it's priceless.

i have, in my corner, a boyfriend who feels the exact way about her, too. and he's passionately in love with me and i with him. every other aspect of him is just as good as that. enough said.

i have food on my table. it may not be the best food, but it gets us by. we are not sick. we are still strong.
i have clothes on my back. they are good enough. i may want more, but i know that it is not a priority. i know what comes first.
i have a roof over my head. and i feel at home.
i have family that loves me and depends on me.
i have friends that are cool no matter how fucked up i am because they know they're just as fucked up as i am. straight up. i am surrounded by people that throw me surprise baby showers and surprise happy first mother's day kick-backs. i have a girl that can hang in scrabble and actually is a geek enough that wants to watch jeopardy with me. i have a girl that likes to read and talk and doesn't always want to have your back, but always will anyway. i have a girl that just likes to chill and not judge and say funny ass shit and ask funny ass questions and is down for whatever. i can exhale when i'm with them. i can be real. if i have ugly, and i'm sure every single one of us do, at least a little bit, i am free and safe enough in their presence to just let it out. i am not judged. i am thought of. and i am understood.
i have a mind that does not accept right off the bat, but is keen enough to try to find the truth in everything. i like to form opinions. but i like to not have opinions sometimes just as much. i'm a mix between wanting to know everything and believing that ignorance is bliss. i am an advocate of peace, but i also feel like if someone crosses that hypothetical line between good and something really, too horrid for this world fucked up, then they deserve torture. i'm anal enough to record all times of the day and number of ounces of breast milk i pump to make sure i don't produce too little for my daughter, but i will not clean the bathroom. i'm patient enough to stay but impatient enough to leave. i know exactly where the fuck i'm at, but am reserved if i stray but a step. i'm a cocktail of laziness and productiveness. i day dream too much, but i doing what it takes to get there. i am simple. i probably know more than you do, but i know that i don't know everything - and then come to the conclusion that you probably know more than me. i have reason that learns so quickly and teaches me logic in things. i can understand. but then i understand that i only understand just enough. i understand that the world doesn't owe me shit, but because i am alive, the world is what it is. i am perceptive enough to see that that entails responsibility. i'm selfish but i take care of the people around me, and i am rich enough to have them feel the same way about me.
i have seen enough in the world to know that i am real. i have seen enough to know that everyone is real. but i am fake, too. and so are they.
i am rich. i am rich in everything that matters. i am rich in what i hold most important to me.

but fuck, i need some money.

hip hop and ya don't stop.

i enjoy my alone time in the morning. i write. i snoop on facebook. i think. i smoke out. and i listen to music.

i like this type of music that makes your head nod. it's percussion is nice with it, but there it can be different in every song. for example, this song i'm listening to is called dat skat. it is by a group that incorporates live musical instruments. the drummer is SICK with it. he is also a dj. anyway, this song has very jazzy percussion. the mc is brilliant. it takes real wit to be a good mc. the way they piece their sentences together - syllables and accents all in the right place, matching every other element of the song.

i can listen to music for days. before i was blessed with my daughter, if i was awake, i had headphones on. open my eyes. coffee and cigarettes. computer. i made beats. i tried to sell them for a little extra spending money. i sold a few. i always sold one when i really needed the money.

when night fell, it was off to work. where i'd have to play club songs - more commercial songs. there were some i liked. there were some i hated (like the music today - damn. i feel like that old person that says to younger ones, "that isn't music - now this is real music" [me putting on something like, 15 years old]). i liked playing this song in the club - touch the sky.

i miss djing. i miss seeing people have a good time, because i was helping set the mood. it must be great to perform for thousands of people. having that much influence is so intense. not that i know - i mean, i was only helping set the mood. there is only so much music can do to someone who's predisposition was to find an easy girl since he woke up that morning.

my favorite spots were the small ones. they were always almost empty, with the exception of the few tables, filled with one or two people you invited because you knew they would feel that vibe, too. these gigs never lasted long. establishments couldn't make money on this dumb hip hop music. no one came. no girls wanted to come out here, dressed to impressed and ready to party while nas is trying to tell a story called shootouts in the background. no guys wanted to be where all the girls were not.

but hip hop is so beautiful. i wish i wrote better so i could describe it and still do it justice. you have to listen. you have to have an open mind. you need to understand that everyone is different. you can't listen to someone talk about having to sell drugs to feed their daughter and automatically understand. unless you got one of those open minds.

a lot of people have open minds. a lot don't. but you gotta understand that open minds make the world progress. the more things that are known and understood, the more unknown things will soon be known and understood.

j-live:
with or without the mic when the mind gets phonetic
the mouth gets kinetically energetic and symbolizes alphabetics

like, who the fuck else talks like that? if he never said that, i probably would never hear it from anywhere else.

the great ones go early, sometimes. guru. i heard preem was so depressed, he was going to his gigs and playing all gang starr the whole night. like fuck it. this is why i'm where i am now, and now half of it is gone. loss is so sad.

and my alone time will end listening to big & method man. breakfast is on the table.

get them out.

it's so important to get your thoughts out. the significant ones. if you really feel it, and the feeling is so strong, then express it. those feelings reflect who you are. thus they are a part of you, among a bunch of other things. and you're a part of this universe. it needs that energy - your energy. it needs your opinion.

yes, the universe gives a fuck about what you think. if you like something must be known, there's someone in the world that wants to hear it. hell, i want to hear it. and you can tell me anything. i'd want to hear the good stuff - stuff that's moving and inspirational. i want to hear those stories that are so warm like that chicken soup for the soul that was so popular. i want to hear stuff that makes me go, "awwwwWWWWwwww!"

you could tell me sad stuff, too, i suppose. i mean, i would want you let that shit out. i know the feeling of being almost desperate. and you need to say it. i would want to understand, and see if i could do anything to help, even if it meant something so little as sending out good vibes.

if you had bad shit to say, though - that's a different story. i wouldn't want to hear it. or i would, but just because i would want you to pay for whatever bad you were telling me. like if someone told me they liked to do bad shit to little kids. i would probably sit there and listen, pretending to be interested, while texting people under the table to come to where ever i was at so they could wait by the exit and torture the pervert till he changed his mind about his hobby.

you need to get that shit out.

if you have good stuff to say, get those feeling out. share it. spread that happiness. it's infectious. contagious. it'll make others around you happy (hopefully).

if you need help, get those feelings of despair outta ya. and you will receive help. someone will hear it. if you deserve help, you'll get it. things will get better.

if you have something bad to say, then shit. say it. hopefully, if you deserve it, you will get the ass whooping you deserve. and hopefully you will reform.

our driver's mom is really sick. their family is poor and went to their respective mayors and governors asking for help. the politicians signed whatever they signed for them to receive largely-discounted medical treatment in the city at a government-owned hospital. she was tested. she was "treated". she is not getting better. the doctors have failed to inform her and her family what the fuck is going on, because they really don't know. after all this time, after months of talking to my driver for hours, he can't explain what is wrong with his mom because he doesn't know. the doctors aren't explaining it to them so that they understand.

they did tell them this:

that his mother has to undergo surgery, where they will remove her bottom jaw and replace it with a plastic one, after which she will have 2 more years to live.

another option is to take out her jaw, not replace it with an artificial one, but make an opening through her neck to enable her to eat. after which, she will have 2 more years to live.

this is what the doctor told them about their mother.

what does that mean? if she doesn't get these surgeries, she'll die within the next 2 years? what. the. fuck.

talking with him, i had a difficult time understanding. i mean, really empathizing. if something like this happened to me, i'm blessed with resources to come up with the best solution. no, mutherfukcer, i'm not paid like that. but i have family and friends that are paid and wouldn't see me suffer like that. i tried to imagine the despair the family must have felt hearing these verdicts from the doctor, giving my mother a death sentence that could not be appealed. where would we get the money for the surgery? where would we get the money for the medicine? we have children, too, and we can't let them go hungry.

in fact, our driver fights often with his wife. she isn't pleased that they barely have enough to live on, while he keeps giving money to his mother because of all the medical attention she needs. no comment. i don't want to get myself into a situation where feeling like that was even a possibility. ever.

imagine the despair they felt.

they don't have enough money for a second opinion. they can only afford these genius doctors that receive their pay from the government - a government that steals money that was intended for the people. yes. i am accusing my government of stealing from the people. i said it. i'm sorry. please go easy on me. but taxes aren't enforced. those that do pay taxes give money to the government expecting that the government does productive things with the money. productive, all right. i don't even want to get into how rich these politicians and their families are. meanwhile, there are families whose mothers are dying of an infection in her mouth. because she did not receive proper education that her country should have provided for her, she thought it was something that could be massaged away, she rubbed on it - hard. it worsened. she came up with the money (most likely from her children as well) to get treated, but could not afford the medications that were needed for it to be treated properly. so it went untreated. it worsened. and now she has 2 years to live, pending a surgery that this skillful, caring doctor prescribes - you know - the one they couldn't afford in the first place. the government. i'm sorry. if someone out there represents the government and is offended by what i'm saying, i don't mean to offend. but it's true. you can't make this shit up.

we are obviously trying to come up with ways to help their family. on several separate occasions, i've given the driver extra money before. i rarely have extra, of course, but we try. of course we do. who wouldn't, right? but times are hard. we come up short all the time. as much as i want to give and give to them, i don't have it. i'll do anything to get it, though.

this is what your brug money buys, by the way. while it might be ruining your life, it is somehow making other people's better. i'm not saying, yeah, keep using brugs. it does good in the world. and i'm not trying to be self-righteous, but i think we're a different breed. i'm not trying to justify what i do, of course. we've stopped, actually. [cough].

i'm hoping that between mine and my boyfriend's families and friends, we'll somehow come across a doctor who will help. at least tell them what is happening to their mother.

imagine how many other families are going through similar situations.

what despair there is in the world.

1 of the 2 things my father really etched in my head was that you can't expect others to think and act the same way you do because everyone is different. i believe this. i find this to be wise and very understanding. so i'm not going to say, if i were in the government, i wouldn't steal. i wouldn't let this shit slid. and i'm not trying to judge. but c'mon. people need help out here. people spend money on such stupid shit nowadays, too. money is just wasted. why can't it be put into helping people? as much charity there is going around the world right now (and that's great that lives are being changed. i'm sure many benefit from whatever charity is getting put out there.), what about the others that need help, too?

if anyone is reading this out there, i don't mean to fuck up your day with this sob story. but it's not just some sob story. i had to get it out of me. but if this has touched you in any way, i ask for your help. in any way you can. in whatever way you do it, and to whomever you do it to 0 whether it be jesus, allah, father time, rah, or the universe itself or whatever, pray for them. even if it means just taking a quiet minute and sending positive energy to my driver's mother. send out strength to her and her family that have to go through this. send out patience to our driver's wife so she doesn't get so mad when he gives his mother money. send out joneses to the custies that buy from us, so we get more money to help them with (okay - don't do that). send out love. send out concern. get those feelings out. we'll receive them somehow.

signing off from very far from you,
highly me.

stop the blood clot cryin'.

i let them know i'm ready to go back to work.

i'm a dj. i stopped working last year because i got pregnant. my pregnant ass couldn't be in a club all night. too smokey. too sinful. (not that i'm trying to say everyone that goes to clubs smoke and are sinful. naw. it's just a general feeling, aura. well it's been almost 7 months. my boyfriend tries his hardest to make me the stay at home mother and partner i want to be. but i'm scared of the way we make our money. he sells brugs. and now that we have a baby, we can't do anything for money anymore. there's a life that depends on us. if something happened to us, she would have to deal with the consequences of our actions for the rest of her life. a parent is not something you just are. you have to deserve to be a parent because it is not a walk in the park. everything i do will affect my daughter in some way or another.

and we can't be doing things like that.

i make decent money djing anyway. and i'm willing to work for my family. even if it means that he becomes the parent that spends more time in the home. he's wonderful at it anyway. he's an amazing dad. and my standards are high. there are a lot of people that will differ in opinion because of what he does. but i see what he does with it. he takes care of us with it. he tries his best to make the people around him - us - happy.

she doesn't think so, though. and while i sympathize with her, because she is a single mom doing what she feels is best for her daughter, i can't help but get irritated with her difference of opinion of what a good father is. but that's life, i guess. we're going to have to deal with her for the rest of our lives. and there's no changing the mind of an early 30s single mother in the city. she needs money, too (just so much more than what we need). and i respect her opinion because everyone should have one.

anyway. he tries, but we are always short. so maybe it's time to try another way. this wasn't what we were supposed to be doing. and since it was destined that we have our little girl, and it's wrong to raise her on brug money, it is destined that we don't make a living that way. the stakes are too high. so i will work and stop the blood clot cryin'.

i'm still finding what i'm destined to be doing. i have been for too long now. i need to figure out where i'm supposed to be and get there quick. it won't be long before my baby will need more baby food. more milk. more juice. more items to stimulate her growth and knowledge. and she's going to need more of my time.

if only there were 48 hrs in a day rather than 24. you could get that extra hour of sleep you feel you would almost kill for the moment you wake up and realize you just don't want to get up yet. you could get the time to finish that load of laundry before bed, but since you fell asleep while it was in the washer, the clothes are going to sit wet over night and possibly stink by the time you get back to the laundry room. i would spend more time with my baby. and i could afford to because i would have extra time to go look for money. i would have time to meditate. i would have time to reflect. i would have more time to smoke.

something tells me in my head, "pace yourself."

have you ever heard that voice? that voice that just tells you things. and if you don't focus on hearing it right away, it goes away, dismissed as a mere thought. but when you do hear it and pay enough attention to what it's saying, it makes so much sense that you begin to wonder if that was God giving you the answer to your problems? but you don't want to blasphemous because the voice sounds just like yours, yet calmer and wiser than your current state, so you dismiss the possibility that it was God's voice. maybe i'm the only one. but that's the voice that just told me to pace myself.

i love that voice. i don't know who/what it is, but it somehow sounds powerful and all-knowing. it calms me even when i'm borderline frantic. it always speaks sense. so simple. whenever i hear it, i try my best to give it all my attention, but more often than not, the voice is fleeting. it sometimes goes away the instant you try to keep it in your focus, and you are left with only to keep repeating what it said, wondering.

"pace yourself."

that was the voice of the woman i want to become.

i've read a book that made a reference to that voice. she said that she heard it when she was lying on her bathroom floor crying, in the middle of the night. she was unhappy with her life, and felt there was something - or a lot of things - missing. the voice told her to go back to bed. she said that it sounded like a calmer version of herself. i recently went back to that book because i recalled the exhilaration i felt when i saw that someone else in the world hears that voice like i do. i had to read that part again.

i like to believe that somehow, that voice belongs to the future me. she understands what i'm going through because she went through it. and she might be reflecting on her life in the future, remembering that exact moment you are going through in the present and she's cares. she got through it. and she's sitting fine. it's but a memory to her. as she sees you worrisome, tip-toeing the line between despair and resolve, she tells you to be still. to be calm. she tells you that she went through what you are going through and everything will turn out fine. you believe her because you know that it is you. you have the same deal: a family. a daughter. nephews that need you. your parents that want the best for you. a boyfriend that is in the race with you. you did everything in life the same and for the same reasons. you and her, both, did whatever it took to get by. in fact, you did the exact same thing. as she looks at you and sees you troubled, she finds her moment of clarity and wants to share it with you. you caused her moment of clarity, and she now causes yours. she has lived through your future. she's done what you are only about to do.

if all of that was true, then theoretically speaking, if i just buddied up to her for the rest of my life, i would be set. i would get there. everything will be okay because i'm listening to someone that knows that it'll be okay. and you completely trust their advice because you share the same principles. same morals.

am i a schizo? have a done smoke myself retarded?

anything.

being this poor is so worrisome. it's so hard not knowing when money will come in. the waiting is horrid. the disconnection notices are complete - every utility company has sent us one now. there is so much to pay for and so little money to do it with?

i'm scared and i feel sorry for my daughter. this is not responsible living. it's a good thing that i am still breast feeding her and we are still eating well. we're lucky she has not gotten sick yet, as many infants do. we did not have to make midnight trips to the emergency room. we did not have to buy tons of medicine. so in that sense, i'm thankful.

but i'm still scared.

again - i wonder how single moms can do this? i have so much respect for the single mothers out there that are raising children on their own. i send out my love to you.

i'm lucky enough to have my boyfriend with me. i don't know if i show him enough. i probably don't. i mean to. i really do.

i'll do anything to give my daughter what she needs and wants. i want to give her a big, cool, clean, safe house for her to wander around and learn in. i want to give her a big, clean yard for her to play in and maybe develop a liking for plants and flowers. i never wanted for her to grow up in front of the tv, cooped up in her bedroom because this is the only area in the house where the temperature is cool because of the air conditioner and we can't afford to air condition the other parts of the house. we need money. i feel like my dreams for my 6 month old daughter are crushed because this isn't how i dreamed it would be.

there isn't a thought more mortifying to me than failing to provide/protect/care far/love etc. my daughter. forever. this fear will never go away until i'm dead. and even then i pray that whatever energy my soul or whatever is made of goes to providing/protecting/caring for/loving her for the rest of her life.

i need work. i'm willing to do anything. anything.

my bud.

my bud makes me your bud.
i'm nice with it. i am literally nice with it. it makes me more empathetic. it helps me understand and relate to others. so what if you're messed up? we're all messed up. i'm just as messed up as you. so i will try not to judge you. when i'm with my bud, i understand that people are all different, have been through different situations and, therefore, have different opinions, and i'm seriously nice about it.

my bud makes me patient.
this goes along with my bud making me your bud. i just try to understand and let shit slide.

my bud connects me to my daughter.
i'm not talking just being with her or playing with her. my bud makes me feel like there is a true, actual non-hypothetical bond between me and my daughter. and it's strong when i'm holding her close to me. she could be preoccupied with something else - watching tv or chewing on that rubbery thing that goes on the breast pump, but what i feel is so strong. i feel like my love can encompass and protect her. i feel inspiration to become that superwoman i need to become for her. i realize that it will take time to become that woman - it will take honing my good attributes and strengths, along with purging myself of bad traits and habits. and i feel this inspiration when i'm with bud and my daughter. i feel such closeness to her. it slows me down, when everything in the world is going wrong and worries after worries pour in, and makes me realize what really matters is that my little girl is taken care of and loved. don't get me wrong - i feel connected to my daughter when with and without my bud. but being with my bud makes me more sensitive to these mybud-inspired thoughts and feelings. my love becomes amplified.

serious antis will probably hate this. i'm sorry. i feel like i'm not good enough with words to convince you otherwise. it depends on the mother, really, and how she feels when she's with my bud. if she honestly feels that she could not be a good mother, then she shouldn't be with my bud. but, if like me, she feels confident that somehow it is beneficial to her children that she is with my bud.

i can't help but remember that tyra episode where she had on a few mothers that smoked marijuana, along with people that were so against it that they felt they had to yell at these women who did. i would absolutely hate to get yelled at like that. if i were on that show, i would not know how i would react to the way those women yell. it was so mean. i hope the mothers that smoked really are okay with smoking and being a mom. and if they are, i wonder if those mothers feel what i feel when i'm with my bud. if they do, then good for them and their children. but damn - getting yelled at like that must have been horrible. belittlement. accusation. disrespect. i bet you if those yellers and screamers were lit, they wouldn't be all angry like that.

my bud makes me not want to smoke cigarettes.
in my humble (yet strong) opinion, cigarettes are among the worst drugs on the planet. they are so addictive that it controls you. they make you so addicted to them that at any given moment, you can begin jonesing for one. and smoking a cigarette all of a sudden becomes your number 1 priority that you put other things off. and all those things that you put off just to satisfy your cigarette craving are INFINITELY more important and more beneficial than smoking a cigarette. when you are addicted to cigarettes, you crave for them right when you wake up. and i have a growing baby, a daughter that is never going to look the same way as she does now and i want to soak in every moment with her because time is going so fast. i don't want to be thinking about cigarettes first thing in the morning. so much more is important to me. i hate cigarettes. but i'm addicted to them. i wish people were more sensitive to smokers - especially the ones that want to quit but "can't". i understand. it's hard because it's addictive. and they just keep getting made.

anyway, when i'm with my bud, i taste all that badness of cigarettes. it tastes so bad.

my bud makes me hungry.
and i mean REAL hungry. it's just so nice to eat with my bud. i can taste food! and i could make food, too. good food. maybe other mothers could relate with me in agreeing that there are certain meals that you really pour your soul into cooking. every ingredient is added with so much thought and deliberation. you can taste what you're cooking merely through the aroma it produces while on the stove. and because you know it's smell so well, you know exactly what it needs and what it might have too much of. when i'm with my bud, i can do it. i care about the food i'm feeding to my family. again, don't get me wrong - i always want my family to eat good, delicious meals. but when i'm with my bud, i have the urge to really go all out. my family's meal has my complete concentration.

my bud helps me hear music.
i love neo-soul and hip hop. and i'm sure there are many others out there that will agree with me when i say that there is something special to be felt when you hear a nice bass line, so infectious that it sits with you in your head all day long. or the melodic new-school-jazzy-like sound of a keyboard or guitar, backed up by the most precise percussion. a soulful voice. or the way a good mc says what is on his or her mind - the choice of words and metaphors so tactfully arranged that regards the composition ingenious. the explicitness. the realness. the delivery. just beautiful. when i'm with bud, i hear all those things. i recognize the care put into the music.

there are so many ways that being with my bud makes me a better person. but at the same time, i understand why people hate. maybe they had a bad experience related to my bud. maybe it traumatized them to the point that they want to endlessly hate. i haven't had such an experience. i've only had good encounters with my bud. it helps me. so i hope that if someone against it has read this is pissed, they keep into consideration that i didn't mean to piss them off. i wish them love, peace and happiness.

although, i wish i had a better way with words to make others understand.

my family definitely would never understand. and if my mom were to ever chance upon this blog, it definitely would not be her favorite blog.

but this is me. this is highly me.

legalize it.

Pilot

My daughter is so beautiful.

And I know that it's possible that all mothers think that about their children. Good. If  every mother feels the same amount of love and happiness as I feel for my daughter, then that's a great thing.

I don't know how some mothers raise their babies on their own. Motherhood is hard. If my boyfriend weren't around to help me, I don't know what I'd do. Her dad loves her just as much as I do, and that makes me feel safe. I'm blessed. And as high as it sounds, I feel divinity whenever I get to chance my sight upon them sleeping, cuddled next to each other. Or when I catch him holding her up in the air. I see pure, innocent, genuine happiness. It's so moving and lovely, it has to be what divinity is. Allow yourself to be put in awe by something like this. It's indescribably powerful. I did not do anything special in life to deserve this. I'm so grateful.

You have to know good to recognize bad. It seems as though good and bad exist because of each other.

I hope to always show her what is good. I will try to show her what is right. It scares me, though, that just because I try to be perfect for her, she might refuse it. But I have to try. I will try.

How hard is that though? I mean, I'm talking massive reform. I have so much ugly in me. Hopefully, everyone has ugly in them because I don't want to be the only one. I have characteristics in me that would make the world a better place if I just lost them.

I'm so quick to talk. I'm too analytical. I try too hard to see people's intent behind their actions, searching for bad intent. I'm lazy.

But overall, I think I'm a good person. At least, I want to be. Especially now that I have a little girl that will see the way I act and possibly try to copy me. That is so much responsibility.

And all parents have it! We all have the responsibility to do good for our children. I'm glad I share that huge task with my boyfriend. I know he wants to be good, too. We have so many dreams for our family. I hope we can achieve them. Nothing about them is bad at all.

A safe, comfortable house that my daughter could proudly call home.

Enough money that we don't have to budget too hard every time we grocery shop. Enough for all our needs plus a little extra for the occasional vacation or shopping spree.

To be with our children enough to establish the right amount of concern, respect and trust between us. To have a strong family with everyone's head on straight.

How do I get that?

I guess I just have to do it.

She is still asleep. I've been keeping her in bed with me, instead of her crib. I think she sleeps better in such circumstances. I love the feeling of her beside me. I love that I'm the first thing she sees when she wakes up. From her conception, I wanted to do her good. Even before that. I yearned for her. I knew that I needed her. As if the future me would drop into the past me's conscience and subliminally tell me that she needed me to be her mommy. As high as it sounds, that is how much I needed to get her.

All of a sudden, I saw that everything that happened in my life was just the unfolding of her getting to me. Everything bad, and everything good. It was just supposed to be. She needed me and the universe, so knowing, gave her to me.

-------------------------------------

This is for me, mostly. This will be where I will let my gazillion thoughts out into the universe. Most things on here will, hopefully, be good. Some things might offend people - which I do not intend. Some things will be fake. But I'll always try to be real. Be myself. And I might not be happy with myself sometimes. But I swear I'll always try to be better.

By the way, everything I post on here is fiction - my imagination at work.