A list of honey dos clutter my mind. Yet procrastination settles in like a long term illness. Piles of things start to tower and my motivation to organize them wanes.

I often ask myself, "why do we have so much shit?" We can't take it with us. It doesn't change me as a person.

Am I just a product of our society? A low grade consumer that has become so ingrained into the scheme that my questioning leaves me more clueless?

I can't tell you how many times this past winter I've thought about leaving it all behind, down grading everything I own to travel the world in hopes that I find myself again. My house is representative of my empty heart - cluttered with memories of things, yet empty. The structure remains as it was but the person who lives here isn't the same. No where even close.

The crying hasn't stopped. The hurt hasn't stopped.

It is harder when I spend a weekend home. I can get through the week okay - but weekends are the toughest. And Mondays - ooooohhhh mondays. Sigh.

Thinking of Ryan and Brad.