I've been here a hundred times since last I wrote and a hundred times I've stared at a stupid white box and said nothing. A hundred times I've sat unnaturally muted and unable to express a single thought or feeling. I can't show you the times I've lain awake watching the clock pace off its time in a pale blue glow or the narratives that have lived in my head during those times. There are tiny little stories growing but they're never going to bloom.

All these moments keep passing and what bothers me most is the way so few of them get shared. Too many of them are silent. Too many are falling out of one set of hands and sliding past one set of eyes.

And the one part of my life that I thought was holding together has finally begun to crack and fall. Once it would have been the final straw and I'd have reacted far more strongly than now. All that comes these days is shades of apathy. As a survival tool, it works quite well. But then why survive?

I keep thinking there has to be more. But when my last real remaining friend calls to tell me how much further things have fallen apart for her, all I can do is try to give her answers that I don't have. We got to see each other for a weekend and tried to find the meaning of life in a pitcher of pina coladas and a bowl of queso dip. Our attempts remain unsuccessful.

{PS - Please tell me the next book/cd that is coming out that I can't live without reading/hearing. All my previous markers have past.}