A Distant Ship Smoke on the Horizon

I used to rant about my feelings and frustrations on Facebook quite often.  But I eventually got the impression that no one wanted to hear me complain about pretty much anything anymore.  I think that, after years of fighting through the trials of transition so openly and publicly, people close to you just get tired of your story.

I rarely rant online anymore.  It's just not worth it.  

But I still need an avenue, and I remember how cathartic blogging would be to me.  Oh sure, it was nice having people relate to me by commenting.  And the new topics and conversations that started in the comments section were worth following as well.  But the most important thing about blogging for me was that I just felt better when I did it. 

I never considered myself to be an eloquent or prolific writer, and I'm okay with that.   But I remember the times where, after hours of soul-searching when I should have been sleeping, the confusion and chaos inside my brain was delicately laid out in some pretty damn good fashion.

There is so much that I want to say.  But I don't think I need an audience anymore to say it.  In fact, I never really needed an audience to write.  I miss it.  So I think I'll take a stab at it again.

You might not like what I have to say.  Don't read it.  That's fine.  

I'm not looking to find an audience.   I'm looking to help myself again.  If you want to come along for the ride, hop on.  

Maybe I'll be back again in a day,

or a year.


I got to meet my dear old friend Chloe Prince for lunch recently.  I'll talk more about that soon.  Here's a selfie from that day.  Ha, I said "selfie."

I freakin' invented selfies.