Unable to write until now, unable to speak or lift this heaviness from my eyes, I reached another sad, blue place filled with a cold breeze of inescapable loneliness that follows me as I try to walk away from it. I wouldn't dare mention a name, once again. I wouldn't dare describe the flash point of hurt for fear of going through it again. I just want to accept my station, carry my burden, and literally think about every step I use to walk until I'm not thinking about it any more. I want to remind myself to breathe. I want to remind myself to love again. I want to remind myself to wake up in the morning and forget the things of the past.

In the microcosm of exchange between two people, neither is fully defined. It's so easy to forget that because of how lost you get in someone, but this frustrating time spent in surrender is wasted. It's spent in regret over caring too much. It's spend in fear of being discarded, left alone without a match. It's just wasted, and normally I can deal with it because I'm such a busy person.

This weekend, however, it reached out and pulled me to a stop, and at that exact place where I could have fallen to worthless self-destruction I only slowed down; I took deliberate steps and wore this fog around me, breathing a little less, believing a little less, pushing forward...mindlessly. I'm just waiting for the fog to lift. I'm just looking to discover happiness again.

I'm waiting for sun to rise...but until then, it's a quiet, lonely night all day.

Here I am again....

S: Hi.

N: You again? Why can't you just say "Hi" to me in person? I just walked by you twice.

S: I can't.

N: That's just silly.

S: Why can't you say "Hi" to me?

N: I'd like to...but I won't because I think you don't want me to.

S: Ooh. I think you're right. I don't know what I'd do with a "Hi". I mean, it's definitely not...well, I just don't know. I just...miss talking to you.

N: Me too. A lot. And it kills me that I can't just come over and talk to you.

S: It kills me to believe that even if I could, I could potentially be rejected for it.

N: So this is what you're going to do? You're going to talk to me in this make-believe world...this fantasy blog where it's all safe and you don't have to worry about being hurt by me? Why can't you just write to me, at least? You're writing to me now, I'll just never get it.

S: Can you misinterpret anything I'm saying or doing now?

N: Of course not.

S: That's why. I don't have to worry about falling into this friendship...or whatever it's supposed to be...and I can deal with the fact that I miss you. Seeing you around the office is hard enough. If, in some small way, I feel like I can talk to you here, then it's worth it. (pause) I honestly, in my bones, believe that you're past all this. You don't think about it and never feel the urge to stop and talk to me.

N: That's wrong. I do think about it. Sometimes it might not seem that way because I've got a lot on my mind.

S: So don't worry about the fact that I can't...or won't...talk to you. I'm doing my best on this end to stay happy.

N: I know. I guess I understand all that and wish things weren't so complicated. I know you're not completely to blame, either, even though I've made it sound like that in the past. I miss you sometimes.

S: Me too.

N: And here's something I don't get. You don't feel good about things when we're around each other - when we cross paths in the hallway or have to share an elevator if you can't avoid it - and yet instead of fixing this by just picking up the friendship you want to perpetuate the discomfort and pain by leaving everything between us unresolved?

S: Look, the way I feel, when we're apart I know exactly how to feel about things. I'm not around you and your life isn't suffering for it - you have some good friends here and you're immersed in what feels safe for you. You're not around me and that's a definite. I would love to be able to talk to you. That's a definite. I think...I would rather...okay, I'm not even sure about this as I say it...I would rather have these definites with the wanting than having the time around you and being not sure at all where I stand...or being around you and knowing I have to pull back and not be myself...or being around you and knowing that part of me is constantly rejected. Do you know what I mean?

N: It's so stupid how complicated this is.

S: And yet, so simple. If this were the real world, I'd be talking to you and feelings would get in the way. As it is, I'm just dealing with my own feelings and you're enjoying the privacy of your own life without my complications.

N: You assume a lot about me.

S: Bercause...that's all I have to go on.

And there it lays, a separate reality compensating, breathing in its own air, and never edging towards bridging a gap between us.

I just feel a need to do this. It's odd, really, but I'm indulgent by nature. Indulgence feeds creativity and creativity feeds my soul. I need to just get past this, and I can't/won't talk to the person in question.

S: I hope you know that I'm not going to make the first move to get the friendship back on track.

N: I figured as much. I just want to say...I'm sorry if I hurt you.

S: I appreciate that. But you keep doing it. I'm done with that part of knowing you.

N: I didn't meant to confuse things. I feel like I can't do the right thing around you.

S: Aha! I'll add that to the top 20 list of things we have in common. (pause) Sorry. My sarcasm is a defense mechanism.

N: You are really important to me, I hope you know that.

S: Nope.

N: I know you feel that way. You think I hate you.

S: No, that's a feeling that registers on a scale. I don't think you value me at all.

N: That's so far from the truth! Do you remember when I told you that you're my only friend down here?

S: I do remember you saying that, yes. I also remember you saying - later on that night - that maybe you had feelings for me. You sounded so optimistic and excited about us being friends again.

N: I know. I probably shouldn't have said any of that.

S: Hey, that honesty thing goes both ways. You have to say the good stuff with the bad stuff. Truth to tell, I wasn't really interested in you until you mentioned that stuff, and then...well, my curiosity got going. Regardless, I didn't have any romantic feelings about you in that way. I felt really great about our friendship and didn't want to push for anything romantic, but you went and interpreted my intentions in that direction. Again.

N: I was just uncomfortable with the whole thing. I thought that by being honest with you, we could just keep everything out the open and between us so that there wouldn't be any misunderstandings. I'm not good with expressing stuff like that, not like you are.

S: Hey, don't interpret the whole honesty thing as something that protects you from consequences. There are consequences to everything we do. I knew that every time I said something to you, I could potentially push you away from me. I would rather be alone and understood than hanging around you, quietly suffering with my own truth. That's no way to live.

N: But why couldn't you just talk to me about it? After I said all that stuff in that email, why couldn't you just come to me and talk about it, rather than disappearing on me and shutting down the friendship?

S: Did you read that last email? It was cold and factual, a documentation of a harsh interpretation of my actions, exactly the kind of thing you would blind CC HR or a manager.

N: But I didn't! I wouldn't do that to you! Have you forgotten the whole friend thing? Do you know how much it hurts to know that you think I'd do that?

S: How in the world am I supposed to predict your actions? How am I supposed to react to you when you keep on pulling me close, then hurting me and dumping me again? I never once reached for your hand, or tried to really kiss you (like you said you almost did with me). I only ever considered you a friend, and I thought you were special, but...you fought for this separation. I just don't want to be miserable and restricted around you, and I definitely don't want to be miserable without you. You don't understand - you can't possibly fathom - what it takes for me to truly be in love. That has only happened once in my life. You know all about that.

N: I was just telling you about something that was making me uncomfortable.

S: And instead of understanding me, you wanted to redefine me.

N: I didn't. Those were not my intentions. (pause) I'm sorry I ever said anything. I really hate having to deal with this stuff.

S: Well, you're better off this way, anyway. There are no rumors about us, you're getting closer with the people you work with -

N: But they're just people I work with.

S: And that makes me fair game to throw around?

N: I told you I didn't mean to!

S: And here I am seeking closure like this, because in real life you will never approach me and try to fix things between us.

N: All you have to do is talk to me.

S: You know I'm not going to do that.

N: Well, that's too bad, then. I don't have any bad feelings about you and I wish I could come over and talk to you, but now you're the one keeping away from me. You're not even very open to me saying "Hi" to you in the hallways. Do you think this is easy for me?

S: What do you think my answer to that is?

N: I do still think about you, you know. And I do still know when you're around. I can't avoid that. I care very much about you and I wish I never hurt you, but I guess I'll just have to live with that.

S: Or not. There's an attractive option for you. Maybe you'll just throw yourself into the work here, have friends on your level, find a good honest guy here who won't get attached to the friendship, and completely forget anything ever happened with me. How about that?

N: I'm sorry I hurt you.

And...there's the thing just left of reality. Did it help? Right now, I don't know.

2004 starts in a desert that exists somewhere between an incredibly complex maze of city and career life on my right and a green oasis where people lay on the grass doing nothing, just listening to the water trickle through the creek and the leaves rustle overhead.

Sand. I sit at a desk typing this, and I feel sand underneath me.

The city to my right is overwhelming to look at. I staggered out of that city late in 2003 sick, exhausted, and a little bewildered from a combination of personal setbacks and professional triumphs. I'm a little scared to go inside again, but nevertheless, where I'm sitting I'm much closer to the city than I am to the oasis. I have to go inside. I have faith that the professional stuff is going to fix the personal stuff.

When I work on the career and all of that related stuff, I know in my bones that what I earn I'll keep. I work hard, I reap the benefits, I gain trust, I get more work, and even when I don't, I hustle to find work. In that world - that maze - I'm in demand. In the personal world, I've worked hard, I've reaped no benefits, I seek to understand, I'm discarded, I start going deeper, the hull caves in and I rise back to the surface. As I told Viv the other night, I have to do this all alone. That's what I'm meant to do. I have nobody and haven't had anyone for years, so this must be my mission in this life until it changes. As much as I want love, career and hard work is what I'm meant to do. If not me, then who's going to do it?

Wait - I just noticed something about that oasis and what it represents. Those people aren't lying in the grass. They're dead. That's why the grass is there - there is always some creature who has given up on the struggle of the city and went there to give up, to die. That's what I'm lacking right now...that's what this sand represents. This dull hurt from the girl here at work, from being alone, from still being a little sick...it needs to be replaced by the fear of becoming fertilizer for the next person to be lured into giving up. I don't want to die. If I stop, that's exactly what I'd do.

*sigh* It looks like I'm going to pick up exactly where I left off. So what's going to be different about this year, my intentions again? I think I should just shut up and get to work. That's the only thing that brings about change in my life. :)

The time has come and gone...and I find myself saying goodbye to moments upon moments, to things as they were and even things as they are. I do remember saying that "this will come to an end - everything does". This is true of her. I'm not feeling that queasy feeling in my stomach when I see her. I can fight that pull to make a connection. I don't often wonder what she thinks about from day to day. I rarely get that strange sensation that she's thinking about me.

So what's next? When does the rest of my life start?

Where will that magic pop up next?

And the end of this story is here, or past...I just don't see a compromise or hope of spring breaking through this ice. I don't know. Maybe it's best to not say anything and keep working, working at something, working at anything to keep myself from noticing the hurt still pulsing inside. I'm a writer, though, so....

Here's one she will never read:

I've discovered the end of a rainbow,
But it wasn't what I expected.
Not in the least.
My muse has died,
Faded to dust,
And that little voice echoes to me
"Be brave,
And be strong,
And run, run, run!"

She lives.
She runs through my blood.
Makes the color in my eyes deeper,
And falls to a whisper
When I'm about to sleep.

I can't understand any of it,
Only feel,
For the time I spent in her presence
Felt infinite,
And so it goes on
In my heart,
In my breath,
In every syllable of expression.

She's gone,
Faded to dust,
And I keep hearing
"Run, run, run!"

In the midst of all this action, all this life being refined and purified, I still think about her despite the knowledge that I haven't had an impact on her life. I keep reassessing what it is that I take away from this, and all previous experiences, and sitting here in this cold apartment with a warm cat in my lap, and I've come upon a quiet little thought. Love is too valuable and precious to be discarded. If she didn't want it...if no one before her wanted it...the important thing I have to understand is that I felt it, and still do. It's my own private thing. It doesn't have anything to do with rejection or a missed opportunity. Love has nothing to do with regret.

So I move on.

I go from here with wonder and curiosity, some of my innocence still intact, and a heart that will continue to love far too much for people to understand. I begin life here as I write this, and begin life here again knowing I will make more mistakes for lack of compromise. I begin life here yet again thinking of those I've left behind but taken a piece of with me.

And life begins here, with me dreaming of that magical possibility of someone...not just anyone...the very next someone...coming along to inspire me...and rescue me from all of those yesterdays. The quiet little flame of love still burns inside.

Regardless of what anyone does, even those who reject me so completely and take everything that has happened before away, I have that little flame to go on...and with that, life begins here.

And there it went. It's weird how a paradigm can shift as quickly as a carnival ride. I was waiting for an ending, or a change, or a discovery, and what I ended up discovering upon opening that room of friendship when I heard the door unlock was...well...I still have to figure out what it is. I still have to figure out who she is to me now, but there's one major change:

I'm not in love with the girl any more.

I'm in love with the idea that once was, the stolen hug on a Halloween, the connection between two people who loved to laugh and talk well about each other when the other one was absent. I'm in love with the girl who had strong feelings for me and our familiarity, not that this in any way defined a committed relationship. Did I ever believe we had a chance for a relationship? I don't know that I did. But what I do know is that we had something.

But I didn't see what was just under the surface, possibly because I didn't want to get hurt, and I knew she would eventually hurt me. I just knew that she would. What I understand now is that I offer little more than entertainment and company to her. I don't bring any truth to her life, and who would want to spend any time or effort on that? Surely not her.

In the end of this short story, I had to let go of my belief in everything that had happened before. I have to redefine what is, and accept the fact that no, it's not my time yet. I have to be alone a little bit longer. The unfortunate reality is that the things that don't engage my heart will not involve my mind and vice versa, and I need to be inspired, especially in a world where I find rejection and a fight everywhere I turn. The holiday season is upon us and at this very moment, I want to be alone. I want to recover from this incredible, short-lived inspiration and come back at the world better than ever. It's time to make a change. It's time to change the world.

I just have to do it without her. Do you believe in a point of no return?

There will come a day.

As I walked through the theater after the last actor left tonight, the moment struck me, as true as it was simple. I will someday walk out of that theater for the last time. I will someday walk away from the theater company I helped build. I will someday not see all of the people in my life any more. Have I contributed? Have I done anything to color these memories, anything to be remembered by?

And what will happen tomorrow? What's next? How did I get here?

Of course, I'm thinking about tomorrow. I don't want that burning feeling in my gut or the lump in my throat. Part of me is anxious to get things started in a new direction, and part of me is nervous about the vulnerable place I could end up in. She will be there, and possibly my whole perception of the end just doesn't exist in her story, but then again...well, no, I do feel I've lost her and everything connected to her. I can't see her in the crowd any more, though I know the crowd is looking at her. I'll find a way. I have to.

Yes, tomorrows are beginnings, and every chapter tells a new story. Somehow, I'm trusting that all this happens for a reason, and the truth stretches from the horizon so that we can always look back and see how it adds up. If I can remember to breathe when I wake up in only a few hours and keep that going without distraction, I think I'll be okay.

The brain and the heart - such a dysfunctional relationship. Would it not be for their dependance on each other, they would have gotten a divorce a long time ago.

Up late, but doing okay...still determined to live my life well away from work, even with those ugly theater politics getting uglier and darker with each day. The poison there is spreading, but true to my entry last night...

...I'm still working hard. I'm not going to eat so much I get fat and lazy. I'm not going to slow down for anyone. I'm not going to spend a single minute feeling sorry for myself and being inactive. I have to be working on something every minute of every day, at least until this heartbreak subsides. Yes, even at work, I have to raise the difficulty factor and find things I can do at my desk. There will be no more roaming around, no joking around with the people on the East side. All there will be is working and waiting until the next opportunity presents itself. Location #1, my desk. Location #2, my boss's office. Location #3, the bathroom. Anywhere else on my floor is misplaced effort.

I have to focus on the work, because it's what got me through difficult times before. I have to work hard because I'm directing four plays about failing relationships, and this could drive me to...well, self-destruction.

One interesting thing to note from past experience: Whenever I've failed at something, I always say, "I'm not doing enough." This time, although I suddenly find moments of sheer exhaustion, I'm really determined to push myself into the red, though not so far I start getting sick. Exhaustion is okay. Sick isn't. Lack of sleep and food is okay, perpetual migraines isn't. This is an every day thing, including weekends.

If I have to deal with a sense of loss and jealousy (thanks, Marianna, for THAT one), then I have to fill in those cracks, those flaws with task-oriented focus. I'm priming up the machne and getting myself fitted for blinders. I am not leaving ground zero for anything from here on.

And tonight, going to sleep so late will more than likely prevent any more dreams about her. I've got so many things to do tomorrow.

Well...I never thought I'd get here. Eager to see yet a new chapter start in my life, it was all suddenly taken away from me in the midst of an early week triumph and some ugly theater politics.

I thought something great was about to happen. I thought she was really interested. And then she took it all away. To drive the point home, she shut down, only to open up to others. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to get rid of this hurt. See, I hate the fact that I let myself get here. I hate the fact that I believed in something, a connection, a feeling, something more refined and true than anything I've ever known. But what was I thinking? Was it at all possible that I would find this thing at work?

Was it at all possible that for the first time in over a decade, I would allow myself to not be alone?

I got to a familiar place today, one that had damaged me in the past and made me lose hope. My breath was shallow, that lump in my throat grew, and I had to walk away defeated and alone. Did she give me a single thought after I walked away? My instincts tell me no. Will she give me a single thought come Monday, come December, come 2004? A single thought, yes: "Stay away from him."

So why, especially quite a few beers late into the evening (with Cathy, and then alone), have I not shed a tear, despite how truly sad I am about this? Oh, God, this was important to me. This was really important. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. I promised myself that as soon as I felt I needed to, I'd have to work a little harder. I'd have to pack my time with more stuff. I might call a few extra rehearsals, skip a few meals, hit the gym more, maybe sleep less (once again, to avoid dreaming). So that's what I'm going to do: Indulge myself in sweat and blood.

Because, after all, I was fine before I met her. I was happy and successful, building a busy, creative life. All I gave her, I did so selflessly, but I didn't give her anything I couldn't live without. So how am I worse off now than before? I'm better, as a matter of fact, and although I do have to watch her every day at work mingle with others, making friends who will quickly replace my spot in her life and in her heart, I had her in my life for a short time and was able to tell her that I loved her. I was able to, until she completely lost interest, find inspiration, creativity, such full life, and laughter with her.

Now it's all gone. It's going to suck for a while, and then it won't, but I will miss her just the same. My memories of her, the parts of my world that she filled with color, are mine and mine alone. Yes, dear reader, after 18 years of keeping this journal through all stages of evolution, from the angry written page to this publicly viewed online blog, I am going to be alone for a while longer.

And that might not be a bad thing.

It is so hard to keep up with all of the details. One thing that I pursue continues pushing further and further ahead, out of my reach, and while I keep running because I'm being pursued by a larger crowd of...well, I keep running because that's my cruising speed...I feel myself start to veer off to one side, towards a new influence, a new inspiration.

I have always said that people will always fight for their right to not get involved rather than using that energy to interact, and sometimes my need for them, my need for answers, has driven me into that beautiful, smooth and wonderfully expressive brick wall. Oh, welcoming arms, why hast thou forsaken me?

Okay, it's not about them. It's not about whom connect with or disconnect from. It's about what I'm doing with what I have, staying involved in my own life. All this squirming...with the reluctant ones...who delicately set me on a shelf to collect dust with the rest of the seasonal items...it's all for naught.

I'm happy. Real happy. Can I count that blessing first?

Okay, this is a spooky time for me. Really spooky, and I have to stay focused on the things ahead of me rather than the things around me. Old feelings, somewhat recognized, are resurfacing, and I find myself doing everything I can to keep this thing from happening. I can feel it in my gut, I can feel it in my head, I can feel it in my heart, and I know...well, this is going to sound really weird...but I know it in my bones each and every time she thinks about me. Maybe that's just wishful thinking, but she's doing something to me, and I am feeling both wonderful and really uneasy about it.

What am I talking about? This isn't going to happen. I need to focus on the thing in front of me, the thing above me and above all, keep myself happy. I've got way too much at stake here.

Oh. Was I typing out loud? Ummm forget everything you just read. I'm just...yes, I'm rambling. I can't feel what I'm feeling right now. I'm gonna put all that...there...right next to my Pancreas. No, too tight. How about...in one of my lungs? I can smell her there anyway. Box, box, where is there a box big enough?

I hate these evolutionary spurts - everything in me stretches thin to make room. Too many feelings, not enough words. Sense not make I am.

A whole month has slipped by! How do I let these things happen? So much has happened, both on the superficial "got my fingers on all the notes at once" level and the dangerous subterranean "my gut is twisting like a rubber band" level. I go back in my journal and in my blog and see the spectre of anxiety growing, but actually, for the past month, I pushed ahead without questioning anything and I now wonder "How did I get through all that?" Wow. Being thirty-something...okay, more than just thirty-something. Being successfully thirty-something definitely has its perks. Pride is a muted thing, though still intact. Aggressiveness sharpens its focus. Being reactive in my 20s has given way to reading situations better and knowing - or...still learning - where to place value in things. But still, how did I do everything I needed to do, on all levels straight to the bone?

I'm happy to say that being honest and straightforward is one key. Being bold and outspoken only when necessary is another. Flapping my wings and never looking straight down at the ground or even at the Sun is yet another. Breathing is that one last little detail. Where do I go from here?

To the bathroom. I think, maybe, keeping it simple is best.

There are so many strangers in my past. I find myself revisiting the question "Who are you?" when I experience change in my friends, and then, given a second thought, I suddenly realize I never knew them at all. How close can you get to someone? How much should you reveal? If you don't like something they do, do you bury it down inside and secretly resent them, or do you face rejection and silence when you do speak your mind? If it's a repeating lose/lose situation, is it a friendship?

I tell you, for years I have had the gunsight of blame on me. I haven't heard an apology from anyone else in a very, very long time, and mathematically, that says that I'm usually wrong. That can't be true! Is the opposite so far from a possibility? Am I the only one who does things wrong? Look, if this was a pattern that recurred in all of my friendships, then I seriously have to look at it. It doesn't, though, and it only seems to happen when I mistakenly believe that someone wants to be my friend, but in reality they're not really interested in anything but an acquaintance. Whether it's twelve months or twelve years, I have to understand that sometimes people just aren't interested in my definition of friendship. They just want someone to talk to every now and then.

Friday morning...hoping for beginnings, a change in pace, a...well, something new. What? I'm crazy! I've got so much going on, blah, blah, blah, and we've heard all this before. Yesterday I was telling a friend about all my anxieties, and then turned around and took a big Alien-sized bite out of her forehead (via email, of course). What does any of this add up to? It's frustrating...the only things that reward me are family and theater, so I try to concentrate on those things. They're so postiive and my creativity is at an all-time high...but my "skinnyman" tries to bring me down with guilt and rejection, and I, unfortunately, give audience to a lot of the negativity that attracts to me. I try to say "no more", but yes, I am reactive and yes, I do hurt...so....

So what it should mean to me and what it does mean to me are two different things entirely. I wish I could hang out with my beautiful friend at work, but there are some ugly, ugly points of light there that reflect on me. I wish I could see my friend of almost 12 years, but there always seems to be the issue of baggage-handling. I wish I had more of a Zen approach with all this, but I don't, and that is exactly where all my creativity comes from. Not optimism. Struggle. Struggle and defeat. Because victory comes slowly and with a LOT of resistance, and that is exactly how my life is mapped out. This is what I need to do and live with so I can have...what? Where is this all leading?

Friday morning...hoping for beginnings and a change in pace. Hope springs eternal, I guess, and life goes on. When will I be able to recognize the next chapter?

It's Monday morning at the paycheck dance, and man, do I need to take a breath! Why I'm so hungry for all this extra stuff I'm doing right now is totally beyond me. Do I not value any kind of stability or rest? My eyes are doing this funky, off-focus thing, and I can't seem to slow down at an appropriate time; I always find myself nodding off when I'm alone and intend on doing more with my time, but that couch...that bed...that floor...it seems my whole apartment except for my computer chair is one big off button. Am I doing too much? I'm...directing four plays...writing a song for another...acting in another...and just accepted directing a film. What am I running away from? The mystery girl of my past hasn't written to me since July. The former pen pal is too busy to make me feel guilty for being poor and too busy myself. The new addiction is...let's just say she's unpredictable but she's here at work, so...so theater isn't really an escape from her.

What's going on? It's starting to feel like I'm on one of those little playground merry-go-rounds that the biggest kid powers around until everyone pukes. It's a good thing there was always sand available.

I'm writing poetry, writing plays, writing music...but what cracks am I trying to fill? Oh, God, please don't let me go crazy like so many creative people I've come to know and love.

This is all going somewhere, right?

Thursday morning. Weather report: my clouds are not dark, but they do block the sun, and there's a bit of a chilly wind coming from the northeast. Storms sit on the coast, waiting, watching for an opportunity when the high pressure either pulls them in or drops. Okay, so what's really going on?

Work and relationships: Have you ever noticed how people sometimes say one thing and act a completely different way? That particular pattern seems to be popping up like weeds around me, and I'm trying my best to distract myself, to give no value to the games that other people play. How do I maintain the friendship - the...whatever...masquerading as a friendship like a small, bearded man wearing a dress - and not compromise myself? After dealing with one person dropping the guilt trip on me for not being available to the friendship, yet never putting any value in my time when I can find her...after dealing with another one who can't balance work and friendship, and when I leave her alone to focus on work she thinks I'm avoiding her, but when she's caught up in work she completely forgets about me...after dealing with actors who tell me the project we're working on is the most important thing they have now, yet are having difficulty listening, preparing, and showing up...I just don't know where to stand, and it makes me angry. The whole thing makes me angry.

Okay, to redirect the moment. I get angry because I need, need, need to try for something better: Better, more functional friendships. A job where the last thing on my mind in the morning is Blogging and coffee.

John, the guy who brings me my mail every morning, just brought the answer. His sermon this morning - "Pause for the Cause" - preached one word: Patience.

I have to remember, though I forget sometimes, to breathe. Whatever is going on with these friends, these familiar faces whose actions just aren't translating to me right now, I have to let them figure it out. I've totally taken my own breathing for granted, and I can pull that bubble a little closer.

And so my work day begins with this blog jam.

T.S. Eliot once said, ""What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."

So here I am, beginning at the end, or ending at the beginning, in reality writing from somewhere in the middle, with 18 years of journal writing behind me and a life that's beginning to look like a Where's Waldo mural. Here I am at work. Here I am in Los Angeles. Here I am torn between a bill-paying job that satisfies me like a single M&M and a theater company that takes huge bites out of me like bat boy at Thanksgiving. To hyphenate me, I would appear in your mind as a genetic gumbo, starting with ground zero: Single/Male/35/Senior Secretary/Writer/Director/Actor/Manager of a theater company/Musician/wreck in my most private moments.

That's the foreword to this book. I toss a definition out into the ether, with full knowledge that there's more to come. What particular dilemma am I working on today? Stay tuned...I think my boss is looking.