Well, I've been having troubles with my insurance provider. Apparently, they are in the habit of denying every claim that comes their way. I have to fight them at every step of this process to get the sleep apnea treated. It's really infuriating.

Work is going ok, I guess. It's not all that fun to just load things onto shelves every day, but at least it pays the bills. Of course, it would be better at paying the bills if I finally got that raise they promised me.

I looked into taking a class at the local community college. Nothing I want meets on the days I have available. Dammit! I was hoping for something to take my mind off of the tedium of work, and perhaps provide me with a social outlet. Oh, well . . . there's always volunteer work. Maybe one day I'll find something I am passionate enough about.

During my recent absence, I had my 32nd birthday. I'm a whopping 32 years old. At first, it hit me like a ton of bricks. 32, and still living with my step-father working an essentially minimum-wage job. Then, it struck me as awe-inspiring. 32, and my life is finally opening up. I've struggled with depression for years, and I'm finally in treatment for that. I've had bouts of psychotic behavior, and I am finally in treatment for that. I've had sleep problems for decades, and I am finally going to get treated for that. It's like a whole new world is opening up for me. All I have to do is be willing to step into it, rather than dive back into that comfortable old world ("I'd rather the evil I know," and all of that malarky).

So, I've started writing again. It's difficult, right now. Too many negative thoughts about how my writing is "no good," and a lack of ideas springing forth from my long-underused creative regions. It's been a real struggle, but I'll get there. It's all-important to me to keep writing. It's the one thing that set me free to be me. I spend too much time being what others want me to be, I need to get back into touch with who I want to be, and I want to be a man who writes. Who tells his stories to the world.

That will be a beautiful day, when I can once again express myself freely on paper. I'll know the worst is behind me when that day comes. Until then, all I can do is struggle to regain that former glory.

Wish me luck, kats and kittens. Maybe one day I'll grace you with a story.