To begin, I shall start at the beginning. How's that for deep. Look, the reason that I'm starting this whole buisness, other than it being a really cool way for to get into my head, is that there is too much negativity in journals such as these. He doesn't love me... I hate myself.... Nobody understands me... Crap! The fact of the matter is that no one is ever going to have everything go their way, but brooding is not the way to help things. I don't understand myself, and in fact, one of my favorite pass times these days is to sit quietly or walk Sox and just mumble to myself, trying to figure me out. It's fun what I'll learn, or at least think I'll learn. But one thing that I do know, is that I am happier than most of my friends, just because I don't let things get to me.

Since this is a public journal, and there is a fair chance that people out there don't know me, I am going to explain a few things about me. I have cause for depression and despair in my life. My father died three years ago. The year after that my uncle and then my mother's mother this summer. Both gone. I can remember both of my Grandfather's and remember both of them passing away. Guess what, though. It makes me who I am. I suppose that it gives me depth and perspective. The point is that, yes, it blows goats, but I am still a happy person. Maybe I'm good at lying to myself, you say? Perhaps, but I would rather give it that misnomer than live in perpetual melancholoy.

Oh, I have my good days and my bad days. I am often nostolgic and get bored easily. I will lose patience with people and, more often, mentalities, and I can bitch and moan. But I really perfer not to. The only passable arguments for writing depression and self-pity are that (A) the act of writing ones thoughts is a sort of symbolic banishment from the mind, giving way to peace (which I can certainly understand) and (B) that songs, essays, poems and other such things about pain are far more interesting and entertaining than those about joy. My only answer to B is that if such is the case, than my faith in the Human Spirit is for naught. Songs of Laughter should be better than those of tears, and I can only wish it were so.
Scratch that; I can only believe that it is so.

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