He's perfect!

It wasn't what I expected at all. The words coming out of the doctors' mouth were terrible. But, they'd stopped penetrating my thoughts long ago. "hereditary" ran through my head. Over and over. And over. Two years ago, I'd watched my mother slowly slip away from me. Every day, the magnificent woman I knew was less and less there. It was not long before she passed away. Too quickly for the doctors to do anything about it. They cut her open, tore away the little that was left of her to try and find out what had happened. But, in the end, "We did our best. We're very sorry for your loss", was the only answer they could come up with.

Then, 2 months ago, dad slipped and fell over in the kitchen. He'd been washing the dishes, and as usual, he left a small puddle on the floor beneath the sink. This time however, when his foot slid the barest of margins, he completely lost his balance and came tumbling down to the ground. The thump when his head hit the ground was the loudest noise I have ever heard. It cut through everything, including his skull. In the short time it took for me to reach him, the pool of blood had spread rapidly. I called 000, tried to stem the bleeding and did everything I could think of to stop him from dying on me. He was all I had left. Friends had been either unable to cope with the loss of my mother or incapable of dealing with the grief my father and I now endured on a daily basis. Regardless, they didn't make contact anymore. As for family, there was none. Both my parents were only childs and their parents all died before 60. Cancer, heart failure, car accident. A series of unfortunate events, and now this, to add to the collection.

The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics took charge straight away. I told them what had happened and anything else that I could think of that might be in someway relevant or helpful. Otherwise, I just left them to it. I was completely out of my depth. Clinging to the edge of the pool, trying my darndest not to go under, but it was like quicksand and I was struggling more frantically than a rabbit caught in a trap...

Once they'd stabilised him, they took him to hospital. I was in the ambulance with him, but the trip is nothing more than a blur. I wasn't really there, although my body was. At the hospital, the doctors may as well have been speaking another language and in a way they were. I doubt, even at my most alert, that I would have understood even half of what they were trying to explain to me. But, even so, dad was going to be ok. I got that much. No internal damage. Superficial. Very lucky. Cracked skull. Brain function. CT. MRI. The rest simply floated around, making no connections with anything else and was certainly in no rush to do so in any case.

When he finally did wake up, it broke the spell. He was groggy, daised and confused, but it was him and that was enough. Or so I'd thought...

Over the next few weeks, after passing various mental tests and the like and satisfying the doctors that he was ready to go home, it became increasingly clear that everything was not alright. He began having memory trip ups more and more frequently, but when I told him how worried I was, he simply brushed it aside. It was perhaps a month later, when I received a call from him in a very panicky, distressed state. He'd been driving home from work, when he realised he didn't know the way. Soon, he had become lost and now he described to me, where he was. Outside a tall beige building, with large windows. About 5 storeys and 3 trees in the median strip. Opposite, was a park, with playground, walking trail and a duck pond. It was his work. He was sitting in the car, directly outside the place he had come to work five days a week, every week, for the past 15 years. And he had no idea where he was.

I called a cab, which arrived promptly, and took it to his work. He was still in his car, on the verge of tears. He reminded me of the four-year-old we had seen at the markets the other weekend. He too had been lost, tears streaming down his face, calling out for his mummy. I may not have given birth to him, but I was here and I could reassure him. The taxi driver on the hand, was something I couldn't handle. He wasn't leaving, preferring to sit there and gawk instead. I yelled at him to piss off and startled, he did just that. I drove my father back to the hospital. I took him inside and he was immediately admitted.

Test after test followed. However, eventually, they found it. The thing that had 'hereditary' stampeding my thoughts. Dad had a degenerative neurodisease. They couldn't say for sure, but in all probability, his fall had set it off. They stressed it had always been there, but now it was no longer dormant. They wanted to test me for it too. And they did. Extensively. But the results would take a while, as unlike my dad's, they didn't have 'URGENT' written all over them.

The next few days creeped agonisingly slowly along. It seemed the clock was moving in accordance with a tug of war between two snails and every now again, the one pulling it backwards would gain some ground. Otherwise it slid around the track, seemingly without actually moving, even though it was. Just.

Then, everything began to happen very quickly. Dad slipped in and out of consciousness and again. Just like I had with my mother, I could see him fading away. The doctors were helpless. Even though, this time, they knew what they were fighting, the resistance they provided did barely more than a total surrender would have. Now, the disease had progressed. No longer was it simply attacking the areas of dad's brain responsible for memory, instead his whole body was now attacking itself in a desperate attempt to rid itself of the foreign intruder it had detected far too late. This part was new, and made his demise much swifter indeed. It was a mere matter of hours before the doctors said that he wouldn't survive the night. But in fact, it was little more than thirty minutes.

In an obviously draining effort, my father came to. It was for a brief period only, less than five minutes, but enough for him to share the next stage to my pain with me. "Son", he addressed me with, for the first time in my life, "You're adopted. I love you." That was all the words he could manage, before eyes wide and wet, mouth gaping- gasping- he too slipped away from me.

As soon as he came to rest in the bed and his strength left the hand that gripped me, I ran. Tears flooded my face and blurred out my vision to virtual blindness. Nevertheless, I ran, to get away from the lifeless body of who I had known only as my father and the disease that had ripped the life out of him, my mother and taken a long hard look before rejecting me. I ran as fast and as far as I could. Around this corner, down that corridor, through those doors. The unfamiliar pathway was maze-like. That is, until I saw the greeny blur of an exit sign, telling me to take one last corner. Bang! I connected with something solid, but not so solid as to be confused with a wall. It was a person. A guy. It was Him. And he ignored my absent apology. Saw my continued rushed journey and followed me...

I ran out the door and along the path, oblivious to the calming expanses of grass on either side. Without knowing where I was heading, I followed the path. As I rounded a curve the obscuring tree yielded, allowing me to see Dad's car. What was Dad's car. I couldn't take it, screaming, I bolted in the opposite direction. Across the grass, slightly boggy from the heavy rains of the past week. Soon, a fence appeared. One of those with little ability as a barrier, but one that contributed to the overall appearance of the grounds, therefore justifying the money for it and granting it the title 'fence'. I jumped over it and landed on the footpath on the other side. Without breaking stride I then left the footpath for the bitumen of the road. Suddenly, a blaring noise appeared. The sharp spikes and troughs of a heart monitor filled my brain and I became completely immobilised. The car's horn continued on and on. It cut into my head completely overwhelming the already overwhelmed. The driver, a man, was getting furious now. Soon, his window was lowered and he added his angry voice to the cacophony. Cars banked up behind him and more voices and horns were added to the horrific choir.


I had completely lost control. A part of me was willing them to run me down. The same one that also longed for one of the drivers to get out of the car and beat all the pain out of me. That's why I didn't flinch when I felt arms wrap around me from behind. I didn't even brace myself for the impact, just stood there waiting for it. But it didn't come. Instead, the arms gently steered me back the way I had come. I was too overcome to resist. So, I let myself be led back towards the place I hated above all others. I attempted to lift myself back over the fence. But in a battle of superior feebleness I won. So I found myself being lifted off the ground and over it. However, my feet didn't meet the ground again once I was safely back inside the hospital grounds. I found myself being carried, faintly aware of the squelch as we crossed the grass. Then I felt the solid feel of wood against my back as I was placed on a bench. As my rescuer sat down next to me he was finally revealed. My brain did not recognise him, but that was not saying much. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

"Are you ok? Would you like me to get you a nurse? How can I help?" I responded slowly. Leaving the first, unnecessary question unanswered I simply shook my head. Right then left. I just sat still after that, paralysed by the devastation in my life. "Ok", he said, as he wrapped his arm around me, "Everything's going to be alright." Because I was desperate for the fantasy, because I needed the comfort, because his arm was the only thing connecting me to this world, I sunk with his arm and buried myself in his side. A thin layer of muscle covered his rib. This tensed slightly as his arm brought me closer into his embrace. His hand stroked my head. Just for those moments, I forgot about everything that had happened. I was back at home, with Mum comforting me after a bad dream. I stayed like that, in a trance for, in all likelihood, hours. After a while his t-shirt was damp from my silent tears, but he made no effort to dry it. No effort to discomfort me. Every now and again he would say something. Never anything substantial, but always something comforting and nothing my warped brain couldn't morph into my mother's voice.

At one point a nurse must have come out trying to find me. Seeing me with Him, she informed him what had happened. She'd tried to get me back inside. There were forms that needed to be filled in and the bed needed to be cleared for another patient. He told her it could wait. Knowing him very well, she let it go, leaving me in his very capable hands. "Ben. I'm here for you. I can stay as long as you need me", he told me once she had left. "But if you'd like, I could take you to somewhere more comfortable, where you could lie down?" This time I nodded. He gently pushed me so that I was once again sitting upright. He stood up, moved in front of me and with the hand that still clasped mine, he pulled me to my feet. I was vaguely aware of this being the first time I had actually seen his face. Somewhere inside a part of me registered the compassion on his face and most of all in his eyes. Not sympathy or pity, but true and pure compassion. Allowing me to set the pace, we edged towards the hospital doors. At the steps I stumbled, forcing him to stabilise me. From then on his hand released mine and his arm swung around my back, supporting me, once again.

Eventually we made it to his room. A small, single room with a bed and not much else. He lay me down on his bed, slid a chair beside it and sat down. He grabbed a firm hold of my hand again and his other hand went soothingly to my head. "You're here now. You're safe. You can sleep now." So I did.

When I awoke, he was still there, sitting beside me, holding my hand, but his attention was directed at the nurse. They conversed too quickly for my groggy brain to follow, but soon, she returned with some food. Some of the first light of the day was making its way through the window, lighting up the room. It could have been my state of mind, but to me, it seemed to shine an intense spotlight on Him, highlighting his golden hair. "Hello Ben", he greeted me warmly, "How are you feeling? Julie's brought you some breakfast if you'd like it." Immediately, I became aware of my rumbling stomach, and I was unable to recall when I had had my last meal. I fed myself, although weakly, forgetting to thank the nurse before she left.

When I had finished, I turned to the guy who had entered my life so welcomely. "What was your name?" He told me and I placed it in my memory bank's most secure vault. This would be a name I would treasure until the day I died...


*************************

I know I’m safe, I don’t have to worry anymore. He’ll look after me. He's holding me tight. Keeping me from the cold, the fear and the insecurity. It's that feeling of being totally at ease now. I don't need to worry about what I'm doing, what I look like or what he'll think. He's just like me, he only cares about sharing the time we do have, together. The rest doesn't matter. My eyes begin to dry up, but my cheeks still glisten. I bury my head in his embrace, enjoying the feel of his jumper on my skin.

We haven't talked about what this is. We don't need to. What is there to say that hasn't been expressed by his comforting arm. I didn't have to say anything, because he already knew. He gets me, like no one else I've ever known. Truthfully, we haven't really talked at all, but I know that if/when I need to, it'll come easily. How can it not?

He's perfect. Even if I was still watching from afar he would be. I'm glad that's not the case though. It's hard to remember what it was like, -before, that is- and I sure as hell don't wanna. All I remember is those tears, always just below the surface, begging to be set free. But I refused to let them out and they just built up, like water in a dam. Until, one day, the dam broke and as if it was fate, he was there to see it. To help me cope and steer me back to the surface. I don't know where I'd be if he hadn't been there. No, that's a lie. I do know. I'd be six feet under by now. That's how much I owe him. But it's not like a debt. It's more like the spare penny bowl at the train station. Those with pennies to spare, leave a few and those that are in need of some change, know that they can take a couple, without hesitation or persecution. There'll always be later to replace them. It's like that, only more personal.

He shifts in the seat. As soon as his skin leaves mine, I feel exposed and vulnerable. The IV drip cord tightens and then he settles back down again. He covers me again and the safety returns. My session is nearly finished, but I'll stay the extra hour for his to finish, so that we can leave together. He's only got two weeks left on his course. His scans are all coming back good and the doctors are really optimisitic for him this time. Mine's got longer to go yet, but I know I'll be able to cope with him by my side.
******************
He finished yesterday. The doctors have said that, normally, once people have completed their course, they inherit this unbelievably strong conviction to never again go into the room. He didn't do that, then again he's always been special. He's come in with me today. This time he doesn't have the 'leash' keeping him in the one place. I know he enjoys the freedom, it's written all over his face. But, so is his battle. He may not have the cord connected anymore, but he fits in perfectly. Someone who saw him for the first time would say he looked terrible. Even I can see the frailty, but generally I don't let myself. It's hard to stay motivated if you start seeing your hero as weakened. I look at him now. He's asleep and I envy that. Oh, to have finished with these freezing cold liquids being pumped through my body. For there to be no more vomiting, no more energy sapping. Subconsciously, I've started tracing his arm, where the hole is still. He can feel it and a smile has spread across his face. "That tickles, you know."
"That's the idea, silly." He opens his eyes and I lose myself in them. Even when he was feeling the worst, his eyes still shone. If the eyes are the window to someone's soul, it's no wonder his are like looking directly at the sun. He is so determined. If I thought I had gotten rid of mine, only to find it had come back, I doubt I would have had anywhere near the conviction he's had. Let alone for it to happen twice. He truly is amazing. His hand has found its way into my hair. He runs it through and I can feel myself just melting away. I used to worry about what the others were thinking. But I don't care in the slightest now. It feels so natural, so right.
**************************
We walk through the grounds. Soon, we'll be able to leave them forever. We'll be able to move in together. To live like a normal couple. To wake up together. Make breakfast together and sit there in our PJs and talk. Watch TV. In our own world. He sneezes. And again. We laugh. He sneezes again. And again. And again. He can't stop. I'm not laughing now. We hurry back to the hospital. Hayfever. The cure: stay inside. It's nice outside, but that's ok. We'll come up with other things to do...
****************************
It's all happened so quickly. I can see him fading away in front of my very eyes. A week ago, they thought it was just a cold. His immune system was still in tatters, and would take a while yet until it had recovered. But it wasn't. It was back and now even more aggressive than ever. His regular scans had shown nothing. Then all of a sudden it was there. The doctors say they have never seen anything like it. It's just growing so damn fast. It has an enormous appetite. I'm watching him, feeling him. There's not much more than bones anymore. His breathing is shallow, short and slightly raspy. He can't come to my last few sessions. He can't even get out of the bed. I lay there with him as much as I can, but being away from him, makes those bloody sessions, nearly unbearable. I spend the whole time wondering how far he'll deteriorate while I'm gone.

Sometimes I'm not even sure whether he knows I'm there with him or not. He drifts in and out of consciousness. I'm tracing his arm again. The skin is flaky and weak. There's no smile this time. "I need you", I say, "I. Need. You." His hand weakly holds mine, but its not enough. I can feel the tears coming. I hold him tightly. "I need you" Try to keep him with me,(I need you) but even as I do this, his grip loosens. "I need you" And then, that sound. I need you. The blaring beep. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------. There's no rush of doctors. No cart being frantically pushed. They knew it was only a matter of time. I hate them for that. Hate that they couldn't do anything, but even more so. I hate that I couldn't do anything. You did so much for me, but now, more than ever, I need you.

After a few hours, they come in. They'd turned off the heart monitor, but otherwise left us alone until now. They want the bed, the room. To move him, take him away from me. I don't want to give him up, but I know I have to. I know that the only thing keeping his body warm is my own. I walk out, no, I stagger. In a trance. So fast. It was. So quick. I need you. You're gone. Why? What was the point? Where's the sense? Where are you? I've reached our favourite bench. We visit it so often it's practically reserved for us. Or it was. I'll wait for you here. You're late. Why?
You're always on time. Especially when I need you. Often you beat me to it. You have that sense for that. Incredible. But not now. You're late.

It's dark now. I realise I should be cold, but I can't feel anything. I'm numb. I walk back to my room. It's how I left it. In dissarray. Normally neat. There are books, clothes strewn everywhere. This is not normal times. I can see the drawings we did last Tuesday. The pencils are still lying on the paper. Neither page quite finished. You'd spewed before that could happen. And then everything started. The scissors emerge from the pencil case. No, I can't. I've moved forward. I'm not going to fall back to that again. I'm a better person now, I don't need to anymore. But the metal glistens. As do my cheeks. Maybe it will just spark my senses back into motion. I need to. They're blunt, but still they slice. My breathing slows. My flesh parts. The blood trickles out, slowly at first. It hasn't worked. Still I feel nothing. I go to my bed and collapse onto it. I lay there, staring at the ceiling without seeing it.

My bladder. Full. Toilet. Get up. Feet. Ground. Dizzy. Grab rail. Blood. Wet. Slip. Stumble. Fall. Crash. Thump. Paper. Blood soaking in. We are swamped by the red. Drowning. I don't call out. He's here finally. He's holding my hand. Holding me tight. Pressing into my chest. Jabbing. Why? Stop! Ow. Jolt. The pressure again. And then...
I can see them crowded around me, as I float upwards. The bed is dripping red. So are they as they pump my vacant body. Up I go. Now where has he got to? Seriously? Its not funny.
I need you.


_____________________________________________________________
I hate cancer.

Should I explore these two lovers more? Share more of their adventures? Before? After? During?
Tell me what you think...

Him

You don’t know why exactly, but when he’s around you droop. It’s the thing that turns a good day to a bad one and he doesn’t even have to do anything. Just be there. You feel bad, because you’re supposed to love him. He’s family, but you don’t. You are embarrassed by him. Disgusted, frustrated and annoyed by him. Your favourite times are when he’s not there, which makes you feel guilty and then even worse.

Sometimes you wonder what life would be like if he wasn’t there any more, for whatever reason. You realise you still need him financially, but other than that… In a few years that won’t be the case. You’ll have a job and will stand on your own two feet. You’ll be free of him and his intrusions. He doesn’t understand privacy; that people want to watch the television or read without being interrupted. He doesn’t ask for help, he expects it, orders it.

He says he’s interested, but when he has the chance to show some support, he’s not there. Off to do other things. You’ve given up trying to please him, get along with him and even co-exist with him. The further apart you are, the happier you feel. When you are forced to be in close proximity, you feel your energy draining away. You wait for those same two questions that come everyday. You know he’ll ask the others first, then you last: in priority order. Sure enough, there’s the first one. Short answer. And the second one. Shorter again. Now he’ll move on. He has satisfied his conscience, he’s given you some attention. You wish he hadn’t. That he’d just left you alone. At least, now, you can go back to imagining he’s not there.

He looks at you disapprovingly for the tv shows you watch. Wonders why you hang out with those you do. Questions the point of the games you play with them. How many of them? Who? He wants more notice, for next time. But you know, it’s only so he can hang it over your head for longer in the lead up. To keep you on the straight and narrow. There’s the real problem. If he knew the real you, things would be even worse. You doubt that’s possible, but it’s true and deep down you know. You should feel grateful. You’re one of the lucky ones. But even you are ashamed by so many of the things you’ve done. Often you see yourself from the outside and you hate what you see. Not just physically, but the actual “person” that you are. He doesn’t know about all this, yet he still disapproves. You can understand why and hate it.

Most people don’t get the opportunities in their life that you’ve had and you’re still young. They’ll benefit you in the future. But you can’t see the future. It’s a haze if it exists at all. You’re stuck in the present, dragging yourself through until you can put your head on the pillow and try to get the tears to finally come out. But they won’t. You need them to too, but they don’t care. They’re stubborn, even more so than you. More so than the time you couldn’t bear the thought of a week away, at close quarters. You put your foot down and refused to go. He said “well then, find a place to stay.” You were happy to stay home. You could look after it and yourself, but he wouldn’t have it. Didn’t think you could.

Your accommodation is organised. Easily. He doesn’t like it. Tries to convince your accommodators to reconsider, but they’ve already agreed and they won’t go back on their word. You feel good about this. They seem to be on your side, against him. An ally. But they’re not there for the next month, when he takes out all his frustration on you. Brainstorms punishments and then wheels them out one by one, desperate for a reaction. You refuse to give him one, but he keeps pushing more and more for you to swallow. Eventually, you give in and react. You want to call him childish, stupid and more. But you don’t, you say you haven’t done anything wrong. He laughs. Says you have. He doesn’t need to say any more than this. You know the rest: you’re not good enough for him. A disappointment.

It’s like when he sits in the passenger seat when you’re driving. Nothing is ever good enough. He doesn’t take note of the improvement, of the effort of the fact you can stay at the speed limit, without going over, unlike him. He finds something, anything, to criticize and when it’s done, he wants gratitude. You wouldn’t be surprised if he asked for payment, you actually half expect it.

You know you shouldn’t, but the fact is you do. You resent your dad. Especially that he's the only male role model you've got. What kind of example is that to follow. What chance do you have? Even less than what he makes you think you deserve.

The Phrase I Despise Most

Ok, so the buzz of a new blog is yet to wear off, hence the frequent posting.

Recently, I came to an unpleasant realisation and it all started with an all too common phrase...

"That's so gay", Jeremy said coolly.

It was just three monosyllabic words, but it reverberated throughout Sam's body. It shook him to the core. Funny thing was that he didn't even care about the stupid advertisement, that Jeremy had been trying to insult. There was no urge to defend it; it meant nothing to him, but the words- they meant a lot to him. He'd known Jeremy for nearly as long as he could remember, but he'd never noticed this before. He wanted to yell at him. To tell him how the use of that word in that way disgusted him. But, he didn't do that. He was too scared, which upset him even further.

Immediately, Sam became more self-conscious. He took extra care to subdue his own behaviour so that Jeremy wouldn't catch on. He'd gone from feeling comfortable to the very opposite in just seconds.

Sure enough, more examples of Jeremy's homophobic attitude emerged as the day progressed. He belittled those like Sam, inferred there was something wrong with them. But it wasn't serious, it wasn't like he was being racist or anything. That was the stupid justification for his actions. You know, everyone did it, so it was ok to use gay as an insult. Sam knew that Jeremy wasn't doing it maliciously, but he was still doing it and Sam couldn't accept that. But it didn't make Sam feel ok. It made him feel unsure of himself. It was hard enough to work things out without his "friend" discrediting the characteristics central to what made him, him. 

On top of this, Sam had to deal with the fact he had lost all respect for his long-time friend. He wondered why he hadn't noticed what a jerk Jeremy was before this. Their friendship was over, he knew that much, but he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Disappointed? Relieved? Angry? Sad? That could wait til later, right now, Sam had to get away from him. 

"I'm not feeling too well. I should probably head home.", he explained. In actual fact, it wasn't that far from the truth. With that he drove away, never to speak to the person he'd shared the last 10 years of his life with, again.

There is no justification for using gay as an insult. I implore people to stop using it as such, and further, to do what Sam couldn't and let others know that it's not acceptable.

The Comment That Started It All

I was reading a favourite blog of mine, "My Little Notepad" (I strongly encourage any readers I might have to check it out), when I had the desire to comment. The post that was my inspiration was "The Definition of Me" and into my head spawned a scenario, a storyline... It lead to the creation of this blog and I have Olivia to thank for that. Here is that comment, and another person trying to define themselves:

"Why'd you do it, Hayden?"

"I... I don't know..."

There it was again: The Barrier. Everytime I tried to connect with him, understand him,The Barrier was erected. I had thought it was being lowered, brick by slow brick. Then he goes and does this and I try my best to understand why, to help him, but he won't let me. He pushes me away, builds up that bloody wall. I want to blow it to smithereens. I want to be able to share everything with him and know that he will do the same. What can we have, if we can't have that? What's it worth if we can't?

He took a part of my heart, knowingly and willingly or not, the fact is he did. It's his hostage. If he ain't gonna treat it right, I want it back. I need it back. If he can't sort out what the hell he is about I don't want anything more to do with him. He teases me with snippets of openness. With unabashful freedom. Then, he realises he is exposing himself, The Barrier comes up and I'm shut out again.

The thing is, he started this, he made that first tentative move. I'd been wanting him to and I loved him for it. Then he got scared for I don't know why. He said he liked the tickle of my bristles on his lips. The strength in my arms as I held him. I remember thinking that this was just the beginning. That, finally, I'd found the one who could give me the love I'd been craving. Then he went away for the weekend, and he couldn't look at me the same since. I told myself I was man enough to cope with it. But now i know I'm not. I wanted it so badly, that I was willing to sacrifice almost anything, to make allowances and ignore his failures. That is, until now... Now I just want my heart back.

Welcome

Here is where I will add my stories. Many will have been created by my imagination, but some will be honest recounts, recollections or thoughts. I don't expect a huge following, in fact I wouldn't be surprised if I have none, but the idea is to put myself out there. The response and aftermath- well, if it's positive- that's just an added bonus. In terms of the details:

Posts: I'm aiming to post weekly, on average, but my inspiration will vary so sometimes it will be more frequent than this and others it will be less. Of course, there will also be times when I will be run off my feet with school and the like, but I will try my best to stick to this.

Comments: Are of course optional, but I'd love to hear from you. I'm aware that some of the stuff I write will repulse some people and bore many others. I ask you to keep in mind that I am human, so if all you're going to do is abuse me, then maybe you should reconsider.

Followers: If you are a regular reader or find my posts interesting, than please don't be afraid to follow me. I don't mind being stalked, in this sense!

Email Subscriptions: As many of you blogger users will know, I have the option of sending my posts to a few people via email. If you would like one of those people to be you, just let me know, via comment etc, and I will make sure it happens.


Feel free to join me, for its the company that truly makes the journey worthwhile.