Ten Years Old

I’d sure like to think that I’ve come a long way from the kid about to turn sixteen that stumbled across some place he thought he could use to get more people to look at the insightful garbage he wrote.  Ten years of my life I’ve kept this diary.  Longer than I’ve done any single thing in my life.  Granted, the last several years have been mostly silent.

Funny how I’ve tended to turn here in times of anguish.  Thankfully that isn’t currently the case this evening; just a night of reminiscing.  Most of the friends I made here have also passed on to other places.  I suspect that the Myspaces and Facebooks of the world have given us all more intimate contact than we ever thought we’d share.

Originally a kid writing to earn the respect of an older community.  Hoping to learn something about himself in the process.  Later I had my first taste of a relationship online.  Even now I remember the heartbreak I felt, though it seems mostly silly looking back on it.  Likely it was.

Years later my first real life girlfriend.  I don’t even remember how long we dated now, but it must have been quite some time.  The end of this relationship took heartbreak to a new level.

A few years and a girl or two later I realized why I’d had my heartbroken.  I broke one for the same reason.  On my birthday.  I just couldn’t let it go on.

Another couple of years and girls later and I found my first real and deep experience with love.

A few more years and we both end up broken hearted.  Love’s tough.

Another year, another girl, another broken heart.  Mine this time.

A few more months, another girl.  This one worked out well.  Married over four years now!

Now I like to think I’m an adult.  I only write for work, never for fun.  Spurts of creativity seem outside normal day to day life.  I remember times when everything seemed to happen in verse.  Periods where I heard everything as if it would rhyme.  Those days are also gone.

Best friends have come and gone.  People I thought I’d never lose touch with I haven’t spoken to in years.  I’ve only got myself to blame I suppose.  There are only a handful of people from my past I’ve kept in touch with over the years.

Now I live in a small town.  Everyone knows each other here.

I’ve got an idea for a project.  It’s good.  Just not sure how to get started.  Or when to find the time to devote towards it instead of any other number of projects.

I want to write for fun, but I don’t remember how.  That seems so long ago.