My stom­ach twists in a myr­iad of boyscout-caliber knots as I open up Word­Press for the first time in weeks. So many things to say.… and yet so lit­tle energy to actu­ally say them.

To prove my point, I have other tabs open in Fire­fox that I am chang­ing over to every few min­utes in order to avoid actu­ally writ­ing this. And "TMNT" (the orig­i­nal car­toon, not the new retro-80s-crap pre­tend­ing to be some­thing it's not) is ful­fill­ing the white noise in the back­ground as I watch the min­utes pass by in the clock on my desk.

So why this entry? Why an attempt when I know that I don't want to fuck­ing do this?

Because some­thing tells me it's impor­tant to do so. Call it an effort to get a thought down before it van­ishes from my mind — before it is lost forever.

/me types a sen­tence and quickly goes to another window.

Well now, this is a first. I've had this site (in var­i­ous incar­na­tions) for sev­eral years now, and this is the first time that I've ever really felt that I had to write ver­sus just want­ing to write. I don't know what's specif­i­cally caus­ing the change, and that's part of the rea­son that this needs to be doc­u­mented. Oth­er­wise, I'll pass it off as com­pletely mean­ing­less (which it cer­tainly could be, but I wouldn't know for sure — and that would just drive me nuts).

For years, this has been my jour­nal — a look into the past, a his­tory of things said and done (and not), of achieve­ments had, mis­takes made, and lessons (hope­fully) learned. For years, this has been an attempt to help me reach a bet­ter under­stand­ing of myself. And well, depend­ing on the day that you ask, I would prob­a­bly give you a dif­fer­ent answer as to how suc­cess­ful the project has or has not been.

There are so many thoughts float­ing around inside my head, just wait­ing to be plucked out and tran­scribed here. And for as many good rea­sons as there are to actu­ally write some­thing impor­tant, there are an equal amount of rea­sons not to. I would attempt to artic­u­late the rea­sons but I don't always explain these things well, and Noah would do a much bet­ter job at this than I:

His per­sonal favorite is not mine, how­ever. And that's why I'm here at 3am, say­ing every­thing I can with­out actu­ally say­ing any­thing true. I'm bid­ing my time, wait­ing until my mind and heart don't feel like a large, green jello mold and I feel like I can write about some of these things with­out hes­i­tancy, with­out mal­ice, with­out a sugar coating.

One of these years, it won't be so hard.

For now, though, this will have to do.