In the time of my confession.

"Then onward in my journey I come to understand, that every hair is numbered like every grain of sand."

It feels weird, but good to be blogging again. 

     I also apologize to my now nonexistent group of faithful followers for leaving you with no pseudo-intellectual   writings, and thoughts to chew on.

      As much as it pains me to be terribly cliche, I have to say that I may have lost myself in the process of being angry, and spiteful, and regretful, and stupid. It took me until now to realize that I only have one chance at being something. I'm not going to waste it on things not worth an ounce of my already scattered attention. 

     Before, when anyone would ask me my greatest fear, I would think "Death" immediately and I'd never question it. Lately, I've pondered my logistics more thoroughly and have come to realize it isn't death I'm scared of, it's time. I'm scared of not what comes at the end of my time, but in the time it's self. I don't want to just let my life slip away unnoticed. Unbeknownst to the world, but most importantly myself.

    So savor this, lick the bowl, suck it dry, the queen of sarcasm confesses. She's afraid, and I want everyone to see me for who I am. I'm not a rock. I have emotions. I'm crying as I type this. I want you all to see me for who I am. In this moment, before it's gone.