how come I can never think of a decent title for these posts?

This is from a letter/message/posty thing to Nato last week.
I figured it still sums up some of the things going on for me today, a week later. And, it's still inspirational on writing...

I spent the day in my head, again... And it doesn't bother me, although when I say that to myself I feel the familiar twitch below my eye that signifies it's not entirely true.
My mom used to say she saw my dad's nose twitch when he'd lie, and I remember trying to make him lie about something, and staring at his face, trying to catch the twitch. I never really saw it.

Now, when I lie to myself about not being lonely, I can't even wait for the answer of whether or not I believe myself, because no matter, I already know.

Once, while on the phone with my brother not long after I'd left NM, he told me not to be bothered by lonliness, in the end all you really have is yourself. Years later a fortune from a fortune cookie seconded his thoughts: "If you can befriend yourself, you'll never be lonely". I keep it my wallet, synonymously I keep my brother in my heart.

He's doing it- and I'm proud of him. To Italy, to Spain, to British Columbia- already been offered to take his Masters for free. See, he's got a silly blog like me, too... (I think, he doesn't tell me much anymore, so most of my info are rumors from mom, or otherwise.) He's humble; he had support in numbers show up for what he called his "junior recital" but was more in reality a real concert, with pride beaming from his modest fingers, bowing and plucking and beaming along with Beethoven and Dittersdorf and concertos for viola and bass... and a part of me feels left behind. I left myself behind when I shunned the violin; at the time it wasn't my wont of expression, and now a piece of me feels missing that I haven't really filled... maybe it wasn't mine to fill.

But to hear that what's yours to feel and enjoy, stress and embrace, makes me smile. Maybe you've got a handle on some lonliness with it, at times, when it allows you to take it in and breathe it, relinquish yourself to song, expression...

The everyday gets easier, and gets harder again, like an ocean with surf that takes dogs and babies and divers to its depth. I sink into singularity when it comes, and wash it off when it goes, down the drain yet I know it's only sitting there in the graywater tanks, being wasted, not being cleaned for use elsewhere... waiting.

So, I ride my danger-bike to work in the morning, spend hours shooting and editing racy content that is shockingly immoral to most, yet gives more the release and entertainment that they crave, and it pays my bills, and I know it opens some doors and closes others. Now to say it doesn't bother me, this time is not a lie. But it bothers me that it bothers those close to me, not knowing how to explain why fetishists like fetishes, and why I have no problem feeding off of their fetishes for my survivial. An article came out recently that made me sigh with relief, realizing that the Mass Media has somewhere been infiltrated by those who are more in the know, and not afraid to shed light on what life is really like, not push more shame and lie that everything is okay.

And, I come home to escape to canine slobber, hair concentrated on every inch of every item I sit on, wear and walk on... She takes me to an alternate universe, one where nothing matters but smells and fresh air, water, trails, shaggy tails, balls and love. I can't stay mad at her for long, when she snags a tortilla off the counter or doesn't come out from under the bleachers at the park, the sniffing too overwhelming.

She takes me away from the stress of everyday life... and brings her own to it. But, c'est la vie... step by step and day by day...

Ciao.