Since the last posting I have moved out of the Outpost Command Orange Five, and retreated to the Fortress of Solitude. Within the confines of the halls I have been able to spend some time contemplating the string of events that have led me to today, and quietly ponder upon what my next step is. The silence which surrounds me has been beneficial, as I am finally able to examine the extent of the damage I have suffered, and begin repairs in a environment devoid of distractions. I will be staying in the Fortress for the time being, and look into venturing back out into the world when feasible.

Kindred soul has been worried that the cumulation of negative thoughts would be detrimental to my well being. In her experience such trends tend to end abruptly and prematurely. . . which is understandable. Had I been anyone else, that would probably be true. But I am me. I do not profess to be made of sterner stuff, but I do know that there are still plenty of things I want to achieve and accomplish while I am still on this path, and to give up before then is only cheating myself. On the flip side I have to question exactly what it is I am fighting for. . . each day I wake has been machinelike. . . not quite monotonous, but definitely devoid of excitement and passion. Yet I still do, because I know of no other alternatives. Dreary existence? Maybe. But it is existence, and with it comes the quintessential hope for a chance of something better.

And what is that something better? A crazy redheaded friend recently asked herself the same question, which sparked my own review of what I want in life and where I wanted it. In light of recent changes in my life, I have had to re-evaluate alot of things I held dear. Some things I thought were important and irreplaceable, were actually easily replaced. Some things that I thought generic and inconsequential, were actually precious and should be cherished.

Like simply sitting down for a quiet breakfast (alone). . . munching on the buttery taste of a toasted honey wheat bagel, savoring the hot cup of coffee brewed from freshly ground coffee beans, and just enjoying the hilltop panoramic view from within the Fortress of Solitude. . . it is a nice escapade from the hustles and bustles that surrounds my current existence. It is a short lived reverie, but I have come to appreicate it more and more. Its a simple thing. . . a little thing. . . nothing grandoise or extravagant. . . yet still to be cherished because there are so few of it, and not something that can be gained with just monetary means.

I'll close off with words that another (Rob Dougan) has written, but is very fitting in my current situation. . .

Well I
Keep on waiting
For you to say
That your wait is over
And you've woken up in clover
Yeah
We're one and the same

Seems like
It's never ending
But good lights the way
Let's keep believing
That we're one
That we're one and the same
One and the same

Salvation, see it lights the way
Each time we see heaven
It slips away
So keep believing
Don't come undone
Keep on dreaming
Our day will come

We're one and the same
Two birds adrift on the wind
As life slips away
Let's keep believing
That we're one and the same
One and the same

Let's start living
Seize the day
Can't miss heaven
It's a step away
Let's keep persisting
Another day
Let's keep believing
Come what may

Since my exodus from Tejas, I have slowly lost touch with some friends. Have barely made a few new ones here in Crapifornia. Yet surprisingly. . . rediscovered a very old kindred spirit, one that was always in my heart, but to date have never met. . . interesting mystery, that one. One that we may yet solve one day.

Lots on my mind that I need to disgorge, but will have to sort them in some sort of fashion first. This is more for my sake than anyone else's. . .

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.