Ah, the hopes...those lovely hopes.

"If we didn't have our imaginations, where would our minds run?"
^Does this make any sense at all? I can only wonder, only wonder.

Another Christmas has come and gone (and I think that another New Year will come and go) and I am still as vague and abstract and unknown as ever. I still leave out details that others supposedly have. I feel, always, like I am forgetting to add some detail in that will just make me think "Ah, that is what I am missing."

And those are just the facts. ...Well those are the facts minus the concrete details that make up whatever I am supposed to be, whatever my writing is supposed to be. There is no concrete 'this happened and then this exact descriptive thing happened' ...and I suppose that is just me. This is just me...I mean, is it all really that important in some 'environments' (talk about a creepy sounding word) to have all the nonsense of my life displayed that I don't even want to think about? Possibly, after all the words to think about are 'the right environment' Hmmm...

Strange how every season, every year, passes and it all seems so fresh and new. And then the next one arrives...and what happened to the newness that we once thought was so great? This is life, yes? The arriving of the new and the passing/moving on of the old? ...of what once was? How sad...I mean, what really happens to all that joy that we had only the season before, the year before.

Ah, the wonderful end-of-the-year holiday time, how I just love all the happiness it is supposed to bring into my life. If only life were like the movies and the commercials and all the expectations that we always have before the fact, the event.

I think that I am headed into some problems if this fact is already causing me grief.