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Dear World, Here we are. I've been remembering to write a certain thing about the magic of my life and how my current relationship came to pass and the story of how the I of last year came to become the Me of the now who lives in Minnesota. I've been trying to write that, the last thing I will say to Miss Moodswing, to sum up the story of myself that I have imparted over the past eight years, sometimes clearly in the beginning and closer to the end, but mostly cryptically, in fragments and random thoughts that were never as random as I might have wanted them to seem. In truth, I never wanted them to seem random, but only I ever had code the code. I've been trying to write that entry for over the past two weeks but I am too busy with work and attempting to write a novel, but believe me it is long, eloquent and probably longer than you care to read. If I ever go through and make sense of all this in some cohesive fashion with the purpose of publishing it, I'll write it then. It would make a fine last few pages to this chapter of my life. I guess this would probably be a few chapters. Not only one. But it's time to close to the book, and sadly, that last writing won't make it in. I can't wait any longer. I've got to do it, yes, right this very moment. I talked to Kevin about this a couple of weeks ago. He asked if I writing online was the same to writing to myself, and it isn't. I don't know what I'll do. My new friend says that writers can't stop writing. Maybe I'll go someplace else. Maybe I'll tell you where that is, if you ask. But everything I've scouted out so far isn't the same, doesn't have the same feeling as this light blue and white box that I've been feeding my thoughts for so long now. I don't know what I'll do. Maybe if I write it, the last thing, I'll put it up, but I wouldn't expect it. Who knows what to expect. Maybe I'm full of shit and I'll be back to tell you some more. But I very seriously doubt it. Because this book has ended. And it's time to start a new one. God asked from on High,
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