These beautiful creations of nature in Borneo actually smelled like rotting flesh. Go Figure.

I’ve noticed that I’ve started to chew my fingernails again.  I can trace the reoccurance of this habit to the beginning of Spring perhaps, or the night that I saw you in the v-neck.  Most likely it was the events that followed that night: the building of stress, the depletion of my bank account, the exams, the accident, and the death of a long-lost friend.  All culminating in the complete destruction of my fingernails and cuticles.

And although we are both still waiting for the eventual injection into our bank accounts, we’ve decided to set up our television to pass the time.

I returned from Salt Spring today on a high.  The elimination of an internet connection or the means to make a phone call was a more than well needed adventure.  For more than 24 hours, my mind actually wandered to things that are actually important.  My health, my future, the state of the here-and-now all came to the forefront of my mind, and I was at once removed from all the petty fretting that I have been doing lately.  I was at once complete from all the incompleteness.

I love the city, the cars, the sirens, the light, the adventure, but never have I needed so badly to remove myself from it.

When do we slip into unhealthy patterns?  When does our mind begin to dwell on the things that it shouldn’t.  When is it that we finally realize that we need to escape from it all?

I’ve pissed someone off.

And old friend.

My writing, my stereotypes, my bitter criticism.

And I’ve been forced to question my voice.  Granted I’ve pissed others off before, old co-workers, a bartender or two, and many a homo.  But never have I been patronized so maternally by a friend.

I have a voice.  And I never made any presumptions that it was profound or meaningful.  I’ve never even assumed that it was in any way funny.  The only laughter that I get on a regular basis is usually at the expense of my clutsyness, or perhaps my studdering mind.  I also never made any presumptions that my voice was particularly crude or offensive.  But beyond these non-existant presumptions, have been the reactions that have surfaced because of my voice.  Thus far, in the few months that I have been writing this simple simple simple little blog, I have managed to offend, touch, and amuse a variety of folks.

So should I care that a long lost friend in some way thinks that my simple thoughts and judgements are somehow offensive?  Hell no, there’s not a reaction available that will shape and form this confused and simple voice of mine.  Though I may be impressionable, I will never let another being tell me something isn’t funny, when it is clearly causing those around me to be amused.

So I read too much vice magazine, and surround myself with those that may see the world a little rougher around the edges than you do.  Good on you for living in a world where political correctness reigns, and we can all keep our dark thoughts to ourselves.

Good on you for floating around on a golden chariot made of gosh-darn-good feelings, filled to the brim with rainbows and cinnamon buns.

Good on you for living in a world that’s just so unified and beautiful that no one says anything about anyone, and we all just live together in perfect harmony.

Good for you for seeing the world a lot different than I do.

But I’m afraid this voice of mine hasn’t quite learned how to speak in the tone of optimistic-happy-unicorn-sunshine-rainbow-dance quite yet.

Hmmph.  Maybe someday.