The coast of GB is being evacuated, as a tidal bore is heading from the north sea into the channel. Please stay safe everyone!

There couldn't have been a more boring election. Ever.

Did you vote?

Oh, and thank you for adding me to your flist!

I'm glad you called me today. I was feeling very badly about our last conversation. I know you need space; and I know that you're used to being a lot more free.

I'm not sure WHY I'm writing this as if you might read it. I know you never will. Maybe it's a dress rehearsal for things I might tell you. Maybe I'm doing it instead of ripping your head off when you piss me off. I really hate that you're so passive aggressive sometimes. Everytime I get to the point where I want to finally clear the air and tell you how I feel, you somehow act like everything is just fine.

Maybe it is for you. And maybe I'm overthinking again.

Gah.

There's the skillful slice of a surgeon. Carefully separating, taking apart, in order to put back together something that needs fixing.

There's the butcher, slicing through flesh to reshape and discard the useless... fat, skin, bone, gristle.

Both will yield something more useful and hopefully healthier.

But then there's the wanton ripping, tearing and shredding of a serrated hunter's knife. Cutting without regard to the damage done, destruction for it's own sake.

Sometimes, I wish you knew the difference, and were more adept at finding your own way in life without being so destructive.

You only hear what you want to.

I'll admit I'm not always skilled at the gentle art of conversation. There are times when my skills of negotiation seem to be lacking when I speak to you. I try so hard to know you and to let you know how much I care, and you hear none of it.

I'm sorry I bore you. I'm also sorry you take my weakness so personally. It is not meant as an affront to you. I suppose we would be better off if we went our separate ways. It hurts to think that's way it has to be, but I'm not in the mood for any more of your histrionics.

You win. I'll find another place to live.

 So...
Where to start? Writing a journal seems to need an introduction or explanation. A context.

Maybe I'll start in the middle. 

The middle of the morning, more than half way through the month, most of the way through the year. 

It's a kind of organic process, getting to know someone. You learn who they are at the very moment you meet them. It can be an off day, or a great day. It's like taking a core sample of earth to learn what took place over the millenea. Oh, another layer. Look, this decade there were floods. 

But when you interact with someone for a long enough time, you not only learn the shared history you have with them, but also get a flavor of their past. It's not exactly the same as if you had shared the moment at the time because it's through filters, perceptions, your own observations. 

Think of this as a collection of short stories. Nothing has to relate to anything else. Forget the history of how I got to be who I am. Don't expect an explanation for why I'm starting a journal. Just take the words I add here at face value, and add your own perceptions. It's all just typing anyway.