writing about positive experiences seems a breach of ettiquette. Maybe it's all the beat reading or maybe my own inclination but I see no need to spew about and write down all my feelings of love and contentment; it just feels false on paper.
Maybe I was burned a while back, maybe I inherently know that writing is an explanation/poor attempt at relating experience and in dealing with death, dads, and alcohol a blog is at the perfect distance, comfortable enough to be read by others but removed enough from my self as to not cause to much pain.
When I am in love(with girls, the world, and otherwise) I would much rather go out and be in love. What's there to write about?
books and journals are for pain and poetry...
sorry,
I don't know if I'll be blogging much anymore.
jdon