How was your day?

How was your weekend?

Boss: What about you ________, how was your weekend?

Me: I'd rather not.

Boss: Come on! No secrets in this room. Open it up, let us in.

Me: [Annoyed. At my wits end. Needing to let loose..] Well, I spent the weekend in the hospital because my father had heart failure and fluid backed up into his lungs. I came home at night because my mom is severely asthmatic and has crazy anxiety, so I had to come home and tend to her. Oh, and for the last three months I've been spending most evenings at my sisters house because my brother in-law was having an affair in India and was threatening to leave his family behind, claiming that it had to do with the fact that they didn't have a son. I have two nieces in their teens. I guess that was a half-truth.

Aside from that, not too much going on.

"Y'all gon' keep f***in' round with me & turn me back to the old me."

This could be something ||

I used to be a romantic.
I believed in love at first sight. I believed in happily ever after. I believed that the right person could fulfill you and that anything less would be unacceptable.

Then I went through some shit and my beliefs evolved.
Things that I was certain about no longer made sense, because I gained insight.
Beliefs that I had, I no longer believed, because they weren't based in fact, but rather unfounded hypothetical's.
I questioned more, and in turn not only learned more about the real world, but about myself.
I'm thankful for the awakening I experienced - rude or pleasant. It was actually both.

I no longer look for someone to complete me, but rather compliment me.
As much as I want someone to enhance my being and my life as a whole - I understand that it's on me to be fulfilled - with myself, with what I do, with how I live, and lead, and love. Another being is just that - another being. They do not, and will not, and should not be a reflection of my needs and fulfillment. 

I used to look at it all wrong. 
I used to let my needs control my thinking leading me to act on emotion rather than rational thought. 
I did not have the ability to even understand this before.
I now understand, and am working on creating a better me.
I'm working on me now, to prepare a better me forever. For as long as ever will be.

"So much on my mind, I just can't recline / Blastin' holes in the night 'til she bled sunshine"

These have been the most trying few days of my life.

I believe I may be having a nervous breakdown, all while desperately trying to keep it all together.

My mom has been in the hospital for almost a week. She was admitted for asthma - she was discharged a month ago for the exact same issue, and never fully recovered. Her shortness of breath drove me to take her back last Tuesday. Coincidentally, the first day of my 'vacation'. 

Since she's gone back, she has become increasingly depressed and extremely emotional. Citing issues with her family back home, her parents, and remembering her past life..

It's taking a huge toll on me.

I also have to try and deal with my dad at home. This is a much more manageable issue, a non-issue actually, but I feel the obligation to make sure he's taken care of and this whole ordeal is not taking a toll on him.

My parents relationship has become very turmoiled as well. He's sick and tired of her constant negativity and way of dealing with things. She has a very bad habit of needing to be in-charge. She want's to control every aspect of her surroundings. She's constantly scrutinizing and ordering what one should wear, what one should cook and eat, how one should clean, when one should do certain things, when it should be done, where why what how, everything. I feel that this leaves him powerless to an extent. He has this 'enough is enough' attitude, as of late and does not feel inclined to want to visit her or deal with her world at the present moment. He still does. He just doesn't have the patience to tolerate her in this state and is easily agitated  which makes juggling the whole situation a little more difficult than it already is.

It also just so happened to be the wedding week of a very close friend. 

I don't like to share my problems with anyone normally, so I would never want to take away from his special time with any of my issues. This has proven to be tough having to still participate in the wedding party duties, and 'celebrate', when there's so much chaos happening in my own life.

The stress of all of the above, is also coupled with the stress of turning 30.

Turning 30 and not having accomplished anything except for a mountain of debt to date. This has caused me to officially break down mentally. 

I'm a wreck and these past few days have been the hardest of all time for me to deal with. By far, the darkest and most difficult days of my existence.

I'm still managing to put on a decent front - although people have noticed my subdued attitude a bit.

They don't however have any clue that it's caused by everything that I've mentioned.

Layers, upon layers, upon layers.

I hope things get better.

I really really really really really really hope things get better really soon.

Although I know it can always be worse, it just feels like I can't catch a break.

Happy birthday.

Reprised | Excerpt 1: Intro

I think this is my first memory of automatic sliding doors. 

There were two sets, and once we walked past both we stood in the entrance of the hospital. We probably stood there only for a few seconds, but I remember it feeling like minutes.

I also remember a sense of confusion because I wasn't able to understand exactly what was happening. I must have been 4 or 5 years old at the time. I held my dad's hand and stood by his side, clueless.

When I think about that day I picture it like a children's book I used to read. The illustrations didn't show the adults faces because they were so much taller than the kids, and the picture got cut off right around the grownups midriff.

That's exactly how I imagine it being when I try to recall what things were like that day. People walking around with half-bodies, because I don't remember anything above waist height. I don't know why I didn't just look up.

That whole memory feels a little blurry. I don't think I fully grasped the idea of it being real because even now it feels dream like.

I remember hearing a rush of noise spilling towards our direction. It quickly gained speed and volume as it drew closer. It felt something like a subway train approaching the platform. The chaos gained momentum and I saw a cluster of people hovering around and speeding down the corridor with a stretcher. It pushed towards, and then blew right past us.

That was my moment of realization. That was when I understood that this was absolutely real and happening right in front of me, because when they rushed the stretcher past us I remember seeing her eyes fighting to stay open. That scene felt like it was taken out of a movie. She was brought through in the blink of an eye, but the moment she went right past us felt like it happened in super slow motion. She was covered with white sheets and they were covered in blood.

It feels surreal reflecting on the memory right now; I can only imagine how unbelievable it must have felt in that instance. The last thing I remember about that day is her being rolled away and someone telling my dad and I to sit in the waiting room. I don't remember anything that happened after that. Not that day, not when she was released from the hospital, none of the events that followed.

I do have a faint memory of being home with my dad when the phone rang before this all happened. Someone called to say that my mom had been in an accident. I'm not sure if it was the police, the hospital or a relative. It's as if that call and us standing in front of the hospital doors were directly subsequent events. As if there are no points in time that existed between those two. Like we teleported from one setting to the next.

I don't remember much from that era of my life, I was still pretty young, so it came as a surprise when I randomly recalled that day. That memory had been tucked away in my head somewhere and over the years layers upon layers of other thoughts had been piled over top. The only reason it resurfaced now is this déjà vu feeling I got when my mom was being rolled out on the stretcher today. About a quarter century later, but a part of me still felt just as helpless and bewildered.

TEN

I give myself another ten.
It's not an extension per se. It's a reevaluation.

30 to get your shit together.
40 to live with your choices. No turning back.

I didn't get my shit together. Shame on me.

There's still time though. Not to do things right, but make things right.

The milk spilled - yes. But that's no reason to empty out the glass.

Is it alright?

When I was younger, if I were to ever find myself in trouble - not necessarily in a bad predicament, but even emotional trouble or anything that didn't feel normal or comfortable or familiar - I remember having the luxury of being able to go to one of my parents and have them hug me and say "It's alright. It's gonna be alright."

I haven't had anyone tell me that in years.

What I wouldn't give to have someone just hug me and say it's gonna be alright. 
And mean it. 

And for me to believe them.

Right.

One of the weirdest compliments I ever overheard someone give(to someone else, not to me), was 'Your online personality is the same as who you are in real life.' 

Essentially saying, 'When I read you, it's exactly the same as when I hear you in person. As I know you.' 

I always wondered why that was a good thing. 

Not so much even a good thing as it was a compliment. 

Shouldn't you exhibit a side of you that's unique from your 'everyday you', when you write? Different from the one that you usher in to work every day? Present everyday to everyone? Everywhere. Can't you portray a better creature? At least through the pen or the stroke of a key, than you can, or do, otherwise? 

The 'you', you?

"Don't take your love to town."

Hey Ruby,

I figured this would be the best way to give some more context - didn't think a text was appropriate and I wasn't sure how good a phone call would be at this point.

I also feel like I'm not as articulate and good at explaining things verbally at times over writing down my thoughts.

I'll start by explaining my work a little more, because I feel like it's not really comparable to a typical profession.

Although it's not 'my life', it's become the biggest thing in my life over the past few years, and in order to become successful at what I do, I've had to take things really seriously. That has meant being devoted to projects - whether it entails early mornings, late nights, being accessible when I'm not in the office, working weekends - whatever it takes. Some of it is ambition - dedication to the company and client, and some of it is playing the political game to make a name for myself.

Right now we're finalizing what's going to be the biggest campaign of the year. A lot is on the line for our agency as well as the client, and the past two weeks have meant all hands on deck. Having the video we're working on not be at 100% at this stage in the game has meant figuring out what we're going to move around and how we're going to sort things out in order to find a solution that's going to work for and please everybody.

There's a also a lot on the line because we're coming off a banner year that really set the bar for what we're capable of doing - it put our company on the map in terms of Canadian ad agencies and it made our client look brilliant for going through with a campaign that got amazing reviews from critics and helped them achieve record breaking sales.

I know you said you think marketing is evil, and I can respect your take on it - but it's a huge part of my life. This is what I do for a living and I believe what we do is effective, I think it's creative, and I think it really is interesting figuring out what makes people tick, how people are influenced and persuaded, and how the economy works. I'm not saying it's noble or righteous, and we're not saving lives by doing what we do. But I love it. And I'm proud of the work we do.

I spent the afternoon and evening with our core team last night, first coming up with options for a plan b, then convincing the client that we have a viable back-up, and then putting things in place so when we go in tomorrow we can alter our path and get things moving in the right direction again.

You don't owe me anything. You barely even know me and already have certain reservations about this whole thing. I get it.

But call me weird, call me optimistic, call me delusional.. I've felt a different vibe about this from jump.

There was something very honest about you not wanting to continue things that made me reflect upon myself, and my situation. It was unexpected when you messaged back the next day that made me think about why you would reconsider. Talking to you for half an hour that night and understanding a little bit about who you are and what you want, and getting a chance to shed some light on who I am left me very intrigued.

What I'm tying to say is that you have no obligation to even write me back, but it's not every day that you come across someone new in your life that you actually want to put some effort into getting to know. (..Granted, that effort wasn't all there yesterday - I get it :)

I'd love a second chance.

Let me know if you think I'm worth one.

falling.

i don't know if the effect gets stronger with age.

maybe it's the fact that nothing is getting better, but this blanket of depression is overwhelming lately.

yes, there are moments throughout the day when i'm busy with work and it's not front and centre in my mind, but all other times it's consuming me.

i feel like screaming at times. but that wouldn't help.

i feel like bawling, but i can't. i want to, but i just can't.

it's everything.

it's the fact that i'm getting older.

it's the fact that i feel like i haven't progressed and i'm not where i wanted to be by now.

work isn't fulfilling. not completely. i'm not making as much as i'd like to be, but i work hard.

i'm also somewhat heartbroken. again.

she didn't give any real reason as to why things ended.

and i don't know what to do.

should i keep trying? should i let it be?

how did i fall for her like that so quickly? so hard.

it doesn't make sense to me. i should know better.

i mean, i do know better.

so how did it happen then?

even now, there are moments when i can remind myself that she's not even worth it. i can't be with someone like that long term. but i really do wish it lasted a bit longer.

it was really good while it was.

financially, it's never been so bad.

ever.

overdraft.

condo's in jeopardy.

no relief in sight.

i don't know what's going to happen.

i can't foresee a solution.

i feel like my life's about to overflow.

something's about to explode.

The Honeymoon, it's over. (unfinished)

With the flick of a switch, the blink of an eye.. the popping of a pill, Cinderella's carriage and enchanted surroundings disappeared.

I didn't think it would happen so soon, or quite they way that it did, but I believe that Thursday night signified the beginning of the end.

A big part of me wishes that I had gone with the flow. Perhaps dabbled a bit myself. Perhaps just let it be and accepted the environment I was in and the people I was with. To a large extent, I did. But a part of me felt disingenuous to who I am by doing so. I was trying to fit in and be someone I'm not and that was what rubbed me the wrong way more than anything.

I'm not a judgmental person. To each their own, because what you eat don't make me shit. But when our worlds collide and I have to conform in ways that I don't believe to be true to my character and beliefs, I have a problem with that.

The drugs didn't bother me. A part of me wanted to try as well, but I was scared of how I would react. I didn't want to appear vulnerable or inferior in front of all of these people that I didn't know. I didn't know how my mind would react. The fact that they were partaking didn't bother me. What bothered me were the snake eyes. The way some of these people were behaving made me skeptical of their intentions and the type of people they were. Mind you, not all of them were evil. There were a few that were actually enjoyable and somewhat genuine. But others I could not trust. Others I didn't want to be around, because I would never be like them.

Gotham

she's obviously attractive.

but her depth is so much sexier than the surface.

i genuinely enjoyed getting to know her tonight.

the conversation was so mature and it didn't make me uncomfortable. i felt like i fit in to the moment.

so why am i questioning if i'm good enough now?

i have a mechanism in my head that makes me feel this inadequacy because of my status.

it's strange, i could have everything else going for me, but i'll get self conscious about not being enough because of that reason.

she appears to be above money, which is sexy.

it made me feel like it could be a non-issue.

but in my head, when i try to rationalize it, it feels like it's a non-issue because it's not an issue for somebody in her position.

"having money's not everything, not having it is."

the reason why it bugs me - i think i really like her.

and it would be great if it was just a 'for now' thing.

but if i think about the long haul, which i can't help but do, it scares me to think that i'll let her down somehow because of it.

retarded, i know.

but that's just how my head works.

the silver lining - she motivates me to do more. be more.

i love people that inspire me to better myself.

why can't her presence help me upgrade myself and my surroundings?

maybe it can end up being a non-issue.

"feels like we've been here before, this can't be your first time."

Excerpt 1 - Intro

I think it’s my first memory of automatic sliding doors. There were two sets, and as we walked passed both, we stood there for a few seconds, that felt like minutes. I remember not being able to understand exactly what was happening. I held my dad’s hand and stood by his side, clueless. In retrospect, I recall it feeling like one of those children’s TV shows where you never see the adults face because they were so much taller than the child, and the picture gets cut off right around the grownups midriff. I remember hearing a rush of noise spilling towards our direction. It slowly gained speed and volume as it drew closer, something like a subway train approaching the platform. That was my moment of realization. That was when I understood that this was absolutely beyond any doubt happening in front of me.

They wheeled the stretcher right passed us and I remember seeing her eyes fighting to stay open, as they rolled back. She was covered with white sheets and they were covered in blood. It feels surreal reflecting on the memory right now; I can only imagine how unbelievable it must have felt in that instance. My last memory is her being rolled away and someone telling my dad and I to sit in the waiting room. I don’t remember anything that happened after that. Not that day, not when she was released from the hospital, none of the events that followed. I have a faint memory of being home with my dad when the phone rang before this all happened. Someone called to say that my mom had been in an accident. I’m not sure if it was the police, the hospital or a relative, but it's as if there’s a blank space between that call and us standing in front of the hospital doors. I have no recollection of what transpired afterwards.

I would have only been four or five at the time and I don’t remember much from that era, so it came as a surprise when I recalled that day. That memory had been tucked away and over the years layers upon layers of other thoughts had been piled over top. The only reason it ever came back up now is because of this project. I need to make sense of and understand everything that my mother has been through in her life. I need to understand why she is who she is, before I can sort out who I will be.

The Art of Sales

Sales is an interesting art.

I refer to it as an art because if you pay close enough attention, you learn that it's quite an intricate onion with layers and layers of techniques and methodology to any particular approach. For some it's second nature and they can sell fire in hell, while others have difficulty rising to the occasion.

It's an essential tool for success in that all aspects of your life require a sales technique. We are constantly selling our ideas and opinions to our friends, colleagues and whomever we engage with in discussion. We sell ourselves everyday for a sense of recognition, be it to others or even ourselves. And for most, we need to sell our work, whether it be in a figurative sense where we push our ideas, campaigns, and/or policies, or in a literal sense where it's sold as a commodity in the form of goods or services.

For an artist, this can be a tricky subject because a lot of us aspire to become artists in order to break away from the socioeconomic norms and structures of the 'working world'. The endless possibilities brought forth by a blank canvas, a banging instrumental, a plot idea - that's what we thrive on. But at the end of the day if we want this to be a focal point in our lives, which most of us do, you need to be able to somehow sell your art to the world. This unadulterated, pure expression of yourself must appeal to someone else enough for them to want to purchase it from you. Albeit, there are those that create art for their own fulfillment. Not to be sold, not to be judged by others, not to be auctioned off for millions one day - but rather, to get a sense of self-fulfillment. These, in my opinion, are the truest form of artists - last of a dying breed, if they even still exist.

I, unfortunately am not as selfless and pure. I have a rather different agenda in mind. One that includes a hope of one day profiting off of my passion and I do not feel guilty about this, nor do I think it stains my work in any way. Struggling artists have to eat, and if I can exchange a dollar for sharing my insight on the struggles and triumphs of living and growing in the 21st century, I'm open to that exchange.

My struggle at the moment however, is with selling my art in a figurative sense. I am nowhere near completing the task of my initial project, but the more I share with the world that I am an aspiring writer, the more I hear the question "Oh, so you're a writer? What do you write?" - Ay, there's the rub.

I feel as though this question is hardest to answer for a writer.

A painter, sculptor, any sort of visual artist simply displays their work and it's interpreted by others in a way that appeals to them and the piece often sells itself. Mind you, the back story behind a painting often goes hand-in-hand with the piece, but the visual element works half the battle.

Similarly, a musician releases their finished song out into the world wide web, and it's instantly available for streaming, sharing, download and comments. In a matter of minutes, momentum can be gained and a conversation can be sparked discussing any and all aspects of the song. In all fairness, this has also been a factor in the demise of album sales over the past decade, but to that same notion it has made the fans and artists equally accountable for the outcome of a record. Artists like Kanye West, Lady Gaga, Lil' Wayne, and arguably one of the first artists born out of the power of social media, Drake, have all benefited from the free-share medium of the internet. What this has proven is that if you stay true to yourself and your art form, your supporters will remain just that - supporters. If you show and prove that you are committed to delivering something of authentic value, your passion for the music will be reciprocated by your audience.

Writers however have a higher mountain to climb in order to reach these summits. Unlike other artists, a writer require a deposit of high value from their audience before even proving their worth. Some might argue that this commitment is more valuable than a monetary exchange - we need your time. We cant just flash a page full of words in front of someone and expect them to respond the same way they would to a song, a dance, theatrical skits, or painting. We need a captive audience, willing to devote some time and attention to our work and absorb the message.

At the end of the day, it's a harder sell and for that reason your work needs to be that much more on point and your pitch needs to be that much more enticing. Even before letting your work do the work, you need to put in the time and effort to persuade this potential reader that your product will be worth their time. In order to successfully accomplish any of this, you need to whole-heartedly believe in your craft, which ultimately means you need to pour your heart and soul into everything you write. In the end credibility will shine brighter than anything else, and we all know "real recognizes real".

"So I totally forgot about this loft party I'm supposed to go to..."

I joined another dating website about a month ago. The first one I spoke about was free, while this one, for a 'small fee', was supposed to be a million times better because you can’t search for individuals; the site is so fucken smart that it FINDS your compatible matches for you and sends them your way, and then it’s up to you to start communicating with the ones your interested in. Overall, I'd say it’s been a big disappointment. However, there is one chick that I found quite interesting. We sent a couple of messages back-and-forth on the site, and soon after we began e-mailing and my interest was piqued.

'She speaks so well,' I thought as I read her e-mails. She’s intelligent, she does and says cool things, she likes the same sort of music, she’s worldly – she’s hitting on all cylinders pretty much.

Wait – “can I see some more pictures, because the one in your profile is somewhat hard to make out?”

Ok, not someone I’d typically be attracted to – but the mind is a wonderful thing, and as you grow older, it becomes attracted to other beautiful minds which can trump your vanity. I was just so captivated by everything she embodied, that looks became secondary for once.

We communicated for a while, exchanging essay-like e-mails detailing who we were, what we did and some of our ambitions and desires. We spoke on the phone a couple of times and eventually set a date that was rescheduled to today. Even up until game time, I had feelings of laziness that wanted me to bail, but I fought hard not to become 'that guy'. This is a brand new year and I’m not going to start it off on the very same foot.

I picked her up at the end of her street and we had a decent talk all the way to a little bar called the Harlem Underground. Beautiful, cozy, intimate atmosphere with very cool music: some Jazz, some Biggie, some Michael Jackson and then they played A Tribe Called Quest instrumentals – perfect. The whole ambiance was exquisite.

No real awkward moments. We discussed goals for the New Year, how the holidays went, family life, spiritualism, described our close friends, and all that good stuff. Then she all of a sudden asked me for a favour. I knew she couldn’t request anything absurd, after all, it is a first date and she hasn’t given off any signs of insanity yet. She said that she just remembered she has to make an appearance at a friend’s birthday party at her loft. She’d love for me to come with her, but if I didn’t want to, would I mind dropping her off when we finish up – oh, and Dj Lissa Monet will be spinning.

“Sure, why not.” – vocally. “DJ LISSA MOTHER FUCEKN MONET IN PERSON!!” – inside my head.
I’m a big Drake fan, and over the past year or so, I've also become a bit of a Stan for the Toronto party scene. Lissa is kind of a big deal, and where there’s Lissa, there’s also sure to be some of Toronto’s other party elite.

We wrapped things up and headed over to a loft somewhat across from the Drake hotel.
Without describing every single detail, I’ll say the mood, the music, the atmosphere, the layout the party itself was really fucken cool. Only one thing trumped all of that – the people. The crowd of 40 or so people was the friendliest, and hippest crowd I’ve been around at any Toronto party – bar none. I'm not talking too cool for school, are you a bum or hobo hip, but rather down-to-earth natural swag folks that were happy to be amongst good company.

We talked, mainly, to two dudes – one used to be a manager at the Harlem Underground (go figure) and the other runs the marketing department for a youth program in Parkdale - both of whom were awesome. There was also another very cute chick that brought over cupcakes. She had a jean shirt on and a sick white studded necklace that was so on point - I wish I talked to her a bit more and got to know her name, although I did mention that her cupcake was delicious as we were leaving. All were very friendly. All were very interesting.

As Lissa was spinning a dude came up and played the flute to various hip-hop instrumentals - Regulators, Lollipop (THE REMIX!), Find your Love, Crossroads and a few other choice tracks – so dope!

I didn’t get to meet Lissa but I met a bunch of other really interesting people whose names I don’t know but wish to hang out with again someday.

I did find out that the birthday girls name is Ashley and she works with Manifesto as a Visual Arts director. She’s a painter and has some beautiful art pieces around her loft (I know that some of the paintings were definitely hers, but I'm not sure if they all were.

It all felt somewhat surreal, as it happened rather quickly yet organically. I felt a sense of envy that these people lived this sort of life, on what I would guess is a regular basis. They all seemed inspired, and happy doing themselves the way they wanted to be done.

Everyone has a story to tell and I'm aware that all that glitters is not gold - at the end of the day, who knows what they really think, feel, hate, love and how they hurt. I do however feel that for that little while, none of that really mattered all that much, because it was all about the moment and I was glad to be a part of it.

Saw these tweets as I was on my way home:

NebbyNeb – Happy birthday to my love @AshleyMckenzieB

NebbyNeb – Getting ready for yet another fun night... for the sake of amazing company.

NebbyNeb – We craze son don’t even try us B @djlissamonet @BluTheStylist (twit pic)

Happy

Over the past few days I’ve had an influx of responses from complete strangers. The responses have been to a carefully articulated ‘blueprint’ message that I’ve copied, pasted and slightly altered for each recipient. There’s no real explanation as to why the value of my commodity has gone up suddenly, but it would be rather juvenile to think that this is random or without cause. Seeing as I’ve been using this dating site for over a year, I never really pursued a full-on offensive, until now.

I would typically scour the site looking for ‘perfection’ and if I found a profile I liked, I would send, what I thought to be an appropriate message. Up until a little while ago, I had only ever received one response – most likely due to my highly selective praying tactics. The only real change, and quite possibly a game-changing one at that, has been that I’ve been spreading my seed around more diversely. My approach this time around has been to expand my list of ‘worthy recipients’, while still maintaining a standard based on their profile – picture and description in equal measure (perhaps a heavier emphasis on the picture..)

The response has been astonishing. Well, it’s been surprising to say the least. The surprising part is that there were actual responses! Some of which seem to be promising in the sense that I think I can muster up a date from them, and that’s all you can really ask for at this point right?

This astronomical shift in my opinion is due to timing. The end of one year and the beginning of another. The magic of the holidays, mixed with the sense of loneliness for those that don’t have significant others to share it with – all of that plays a major part in dating and even simpler than that, finding someone you would consider dating. I was discussing with a friend about how Mother Nature seems to work her wonders in interesting ways – there was a period of time a few years ago where it seemed like everyone we knew was breaking up. Followed by another period where it felt as though everyone was finding love. The universe feeds off of that sort of energy, and often times a dynamic shift is caused by a snowball affect initiated by a small few. Before you know it, you have a movement.

I’ve come to realize that my ‘problem’ is that I’m a hopeless romantic. As much as I’m attempting to apply a mental, physical and spiritual shift in my being to help me achieve a higher fulfillment of myself, the core of me still yearns for love. I genuinely want to hold her warm, delicate body in my arms. I want to run my hands through her silky aromatic hair. I want to glide my finger around her face and let it rest atop her lips. I want to lean in, feel her breath on my lips, close my eyes and kiss her as if the entire universe were made for us in that moment. I want this faceless beauty by my side to compliment and add to my energy, so that we create our energy.

I don’t know if that’s a far out delusional thought that can only be acted out perfectly within the theatre of my mind and within the words I spew out onto paper; but at this point in time I still have what’s left of my drive to pursue it.

Maybe I’ll look back on this 20 years from now and wonder how at 27, I could STILL be so naive with my thinking. Seeing as I’ve gone through heartbreak. Seeing as I have doubts about ever finding another woman I could love as purely as I once did. But I hold on to this hope now that I didn’t realize I still had. The past two years have been the toughest and most exhausting times I’ve ever gone through. The mental anguish drove me to places I never wanted to be, and at times turned me into a person that I hated. A sad, lowly negative sap – a has been.

The hardest part about it was doing it alone. No one understood, as much or as little as they tried to. No one understood but me – and even that was a stretch to wrap my head around at times.

Even though I realize that I’m not ‘cured’ and that there is still a long road ahead to recovery, the fact that I have this glimmer of hope, this belief that I will love and be loved and share happiness once again, proves to me that my soul isn’t lost. That deep down in the tiniest, deepest pores of my existence, I am still that romantic, caring, loving, genuine individual I once prided myself on being.

And today, that makes me happy.

Day 1

I meditated today for the first time ever.
I've been considering yoga or meditation for the past few months quite seriously, but for one reason or another always found an excuse to do it tomorrow.
The reason why I ended up doing it today was because Focus told me he's been doing it for a few days and it seems to be helping him mellow out. If I can find something other than weed that can do that for me, hook me up.
He said to just zone out for 15-20 mins while chanting a word continuously in your mind. It should be a word that doesn't hold any importance to you. Something you can just use as an anchor to keep you focused.
For the first 5 or so minutes it seemed a little hard to but I stuck with it, and once it hit boy - it was pretty surreal.
I could feel the numbness take over my arms, and then my legs and then my torso. It almost felt like I was paralyzed from the neck down, but for some reason I didn't freak out and just let it continue to wrap me like a mummy.

The whole experience helped me so much I even went out for a 50 minute walk/run and pumped a little weight downstairs.

Is this really Day 1? Do I have the ability to keep this going?