Is writing here (or elsewhere) a direct link to what my heart wants? I would also surmise that it balances my heart and mind. I do wish that there were other places that that could happen in my life. That would be too easy, I guess.

It’s better I guess that I hoe this long road of learning, inch by inch. I have to see it here on paper. I have to find out what I really feel and really want by reading it on this screen. Maybe I should be a screenwriter. Maybe this is their experience. Your heart expresses itself on paper, you get people to speak those words, and it miraculously comes to life in front of you. I don’t know. It never occurred to me to use my writing this way. I write for readers. I have a love hate feeling towards actors and theatrical/cinematic production. It’s not my drive, so to speak. But I don’t like the way it sucks the life out of me. But it is so cathartic in its way. To see expression in that form. It’s one of my vices, living vicariously. Or seeing others doing it. I actually cut out moviegoing a while back. It was too fun. Too mood altering and personality altering. I knew it was confusing me when I returned to the real world. I decided I needed to exist in the real world primarily. I suppose I want that for my son. It’s a lot to explain here, it seems. I would have to retrace many many steps to explain what got me to that point. It reminds me of Cody and his Lego set. He sets his mind to embarking on the building process. He is fearless. He is undaunted. He has his whole life ahead of him, after all. He can do anything. That is beautiful. That is precisely how I want him to feel. Fearless. I seem to be in the process of piecing my life back together, a life that is broken, and desperately needs repair. I mentioned something about that tonight with the 2 of them, and Cody was utterly innocent to what I was referring to. He only knows hope, thank god. I of course would love him only to know that, ever. I just can’t believe how long I’ve spent trying to piece my life back together. I don’t know whose fault it is. Maybe it’s someone’s. Maybe it will forever be unknown to me. The onion. It will continue to unpeel itself.