Do I dance? Somewhat, yes. I love dancing. I love music. Never can stop. Never.

Do I read? Hell, yes.

Do I write? I used to write well, but the need, the effect, the ebb has left my mind's sanctuary for so long. My diary is alien to me. Most words from my blog break water beside shell scripts on numbered lines in a technical word editor.

I have spent the last couple on months just being. Surviving. Milestones have been reached for sure. New job (old workplace), new apartment, new love and hopefully by my next birthday, a new car. Time as usual has sprung its spring cleaning on me out of season - old friends walked out, some stepped out never to return, others I found were sitting in my living room all along. Its been rough. Unfortunately I suspect I have become a little more materialistic. I've felt myself grow older from within, but thankfully free-er in thought, a trade off I can certainly live with. Gone are the rules that subconsciously led me through guilt. The litmus test will me old friends seeing me after a year in December when I go home. Its a trip that will refocus my life somehow. I know it.