It's been a really messed up past five years. And an extremely eventful year. I'm married to my best friend, and we have a son now. That surprised us too, but we're fine.
Things have moved so quickly that I have been struggling to process and keep track of it all. I spent so much time reeling from it and trying to keep up with day to day things like laundry and work and preparing for the baby and hormonally related depression that it really didn't leave much time for anything remotely enjoyable in life.

I'm happier than I've ever been, yet I've recently been trying to figure out why I feel kind of empty still. It seems to move in cycles, in circles. I'm not in school again yet, and I know I will worry about my life going nowhere until I finally finish my degree and have a decent job. I've realized that I need to do things for myself again. I read a few books this past week and am feeling better already. I know once I get back into that and creating, I will be myself again. Until then the madness, the bereftness will continue.

I now know what it is: without books, without writing, without photography, without ART, I am not Me.