This is my place to visit and to write. This place lies nestled in cyberspace, unsecured, open for intrusion, vulnerable. Still, I choose to come to this place to share my thoughts as honestly as I am able. I felt good today. I didn't step on anyone's toes today. I avoided my nemesis, anger. I lived in the now. Strange to think of living in the now as a memory. I am not in the now. Is writing just a form of avoiding the now?