Feeling Manic

I guess that's not a good thing, but right now, although I am tired, I am feeling a little manic. Anything could happen. Anything. Seriously, I am beginning to see the almost endless possibilities of life. My life. This crazy thing that keeps flying by, dragging me along with it. I don't even know who I am writing to right now, and that's a little weird. But that's okay. You see? I am a little scattered. Anyone write to write me letters? Be my pen-pal? It's okay if no one does. I'll keep writing to myself, but I like dialogue. Seriously. And I didn't have caffeine today. Sugar, yes, but even that was not recently.

How many words can I write? What will happen when they have left my fingers into cyberspace, where you can read them divorced from the person I am. In reading them, I hope you are charitable and can become the type of person you want to become. That doesn't mean you should critique this or that, but having a critical disposition may be superfluous. Who are you, anyway? I am curious. Perhaps that has to deal with the manic.

Do these words tell a story? Do they hint at something? Joy? Pain? Beauty? Sorrow? All of it mixed together in a stew that makes the taster sick? Sorry -- this is my life; I'll try to work out all the chunks.

I am driving home for Christmas. And there will be stops along the way. Anyone traveling from Atlantis? Or Atlanta to Central Florida around the 22nd? 21st? Oh well. I expect there are some creepers out there, but seriously, if you're reading this, really consider who you are.

My laundry is probably dry. I got to go.