Man, I started this goddamn thing with the intention of writing in it on a regular basis. As it turns out, my life is full of little plans that pretty much never come to fruition. That sounds pretty harsh, especially considering that even though I don't do a lot of things that I would like to do, what does get accomplished is pretty fucking awesome.

Anyway.

This month has been incredibly busy. When I wasn't at work or school, I was sleeping or watching the Shield. Somewhere in there I managed to maintain a social life. The holidays were fucking awesome: I got to see all my siblings, my favorite aunt and cousin, and a whole lot of little Georgia. I stayed at Rachel's house for two days straight, playing with her and watching her open presents. I wish I could see her every day, and the holidays made me realize how awesome it would be if I did.

Outside of that, I've been laying pretty low recently. I've been wondering if I'm bummed out again without really realizing it, but whenever I get asked how I'm doing, my response is either "amazing," "excellent," or "fuckin' great." I say it with the utmost honesty, too.

Even though I'm feeling really good right now, I just haven't had the desire to go out. For one thing, it's been fucking cold and covered in snow outside. Also, I got alcohol poisoning at the WAB christmas party a few weeks ago and haven't felt like drinking since. Now, it is totally possible to hang out while not getting fucked up, and I've done it on a few occasions. But doing so made me realize that I'm actually pretty fucking sick of all the things I usually do. I've been at the Post every Thursday for the past year and a half, maybe even longer. I love seeing my friends there, but honestly, it's the same damn thing every time. And sorry, FUNK NIGHT SUCKS. Too loud, too dark, too smokey, and too many damn people. The Detroit party scene in general is pretty tired to me right now.

What sounds appealing to me is getting coffee. Hanging out at someone's house and just shooting the shit. Goddammit, I turn 28 in two months. I'm fartin' dust and I need some goddamn peace and quiet in my old age.

All kidding aside, maybe this is the next phase in a life that is in a constant transitional phase. I've spent the last four or five years looking to party, go crazy, and get fucked up. There isn't anything wrong with that, and I don't begrudge anyone who does this, but truth be told, I don't really like what I turn into when I'm wasted. It can be really fun, but I've also taken it into some dark places and made a lot of really bad decisions.

I'm definitely not taking up the X; don't get me wrong. You'll still see me with a beer in my hand. I just looked into the abyss for a while, and it was looking into me, too, ya dig?

I'm pretty stoked for the New Year. I have no idea what's in store, but I have a feeling it's going to be really good. I'm not making any promises, but I do have some things I would like to accomplish this year.

*Ahem*

1. Continue kicking ass in school. I got the highest GPA ever in my life this semester, and it was so awesome. I gotta do that again.
2. Get a new vehicle, and drag that goddamn van into the backyard and Old Yeller that fucker into oblivion.
3. Visit Chicago again.
4. Get acupuncture done my right arm to relieve this carpal tunnel shit I've got goin' on.
5. Be smarter with my money.

Getting a band together would be nice, too.

So yeah, nothing super-literate or "deep" going on for this entry. It's hard for me to do that shit when I'm happy. ;)

I had a terrible dream last night. Or, rather, this afternoon.

It wasn't a nightmare. It wasn't a night terror.

My teeth didn't fall out or rot away. I haven't had one of those dreams in a long time.

I wasn't being chased by a formless black shape, or an iconic slasher movie villain.

This dream was real. Too real.

I was in a backyard. It was a beautiful summer day. She was there. We were talking. Actually, she was talking, and I was struggling to find my defenses. Everything I tried to say was wrong, and everything she said cut right to my bones. I felt wrong. Ashamed. Vulnerable. Hypocritical. Full of shit and exposed.

People from my past were there. Old friends. In the waking world, I haven't seen them in a very long time, the longest in the time that we've known each other. Which is a very long time. I was saddened by what I saw. Bloated faces, rosy cheeks, once-spindly forms pushing maximum density. I was friendly, but I was met with indifference. I was expecting resentment. Anger. Hostility. Saddened wonderment. Anything to let me know that I was missed and still wanted.

No.

I was met with cold, emotionless stares and disdainful rejection.

They knew I walked away. Didn't care for my reasons. Didn't care for me anymore, just as I haven't cared for them.

Someone was conspicuous by absence. The appearance of this person was imminent. I was afraid. I had no friends in this place, and all of my reasons had already been reduced to bullet-ridden strawman ineptitude.

I followed her somewhere, from a distance. Then I awoke.

The events of this past summer have led to a decision. For the last few years, I've had an internal conflict about friendship. I've been trying to make sense of my past, where I came from, and the people I surrounded myself with. We were once so close-knit. Brothers from different mothers. Telepathic. Pieces of cloth stitched back together. I once had notions of us lasting forever. There would be kids running around, calling us uncles even though our family trees grew in different forests.

Time is a fickle bitch. With time came stagnation, self-doubt, backstabbing. Rampant egotism. Alcoholism. Iniquity. Dishonesty. Regression. We were all guilty in some way.

I couldn't turn my eyes from the truth once its debilitating and relentless light shone upon us. I came to hate what we had become.

I moved away. Found new friends. They opened up my world. They enabled me to become a better person, instead of resent the fact that I had changed.

Still, with this newfound camraderie and a life on the upswing, the past came back to haunt me. Drama. Bad news. Backbiting words that could only be said to my face under the influence.

I was no better. I succumbed to my base desires on more than one occasion, out of spite and out of desperation. Out of a desire to burn down the pedestal.

Something happened this summer, and I am left feeling betrayed. Lied to. Jealous. Fucked up.

It came from the one person I never thought it would.

I resolved that this is the last time. And it is. My lesson has been learned, though it took far too many instances such as this to sink in.

But along with this lesson came the thought that maybe it's time to walk away. Completely. Maybe not for forever, but for a long time. I have forgotten what it is like to live without them. Maybe time, fickle bitch that she is, can heal the wounds and let us grow together again.

Or maybe it really is over, and a small part of me is hanging on by its fingernails.

They're not good to me. I'm not good to them. We've got a lot of inside jokes, stories, and memories...and a lot of resentment, anger, and distrust.

I was completely sold on this thought. My bags were packed and my ticket was punched.

This dream has me questioning everything all over again.

I can't decide if I'm right or if I'm fucked up and more wrong than I've ever been. I also just might be pretty goddamn scared of what they have to say.

In instances such as this, I always hear a voice in my mind. This voice tells me what I need to do. It is always right, and every time I fail to listen to it, I end up getting burned.

The voice is distorted now. Too much confusion. Too much noise.

I have a feeling the answer will be revealed when I achieve clarity.

Whatever the result may be...

...I know I'll see them again.

It's never over.