For the broken hearted, battle scarred, I'll be by your side.

I'm sitting on the floor. That's never a good sign. Sitting on the floor is like Russia doing nuclear testing. Never good.

There is an anvil on my soul. I can feel it. And there is absolutely no reasoning with an anvil. You can tell it to be considerate, give it an ultimatum, even succumb to it's terms and conditions. But it will never go away. There's a good prognosis. Man do I love optimism.

I'm having one of those days. The world spinning too fast. Changing too soon. Stay here. Stop moving. Don't go. Are you ever coming home?

If I were a crate today, I would have "fragile" printed in great big box letters on all four sides. With a little cracked wine glass underneath. I probably wouldn't have enough postage for wherever I was going, and when they tried to send me back they would realize I don't have a return address. But who ever sent me thinks I got where I was going. They were sad to put me in the mail, but knew that where I was going I was well deserved. On the other side of the world, someone has been long awaiting a delicate crate that will never come. Lost.

The moral of the story: Never trust the UPS man... or something.

I keep promising there will be more later. And I know there will be. It's all a matter of time.

Against all odds.