So its been one year since I started this blog, one year of finding oneself. I haven't really written in such a long time, its not that I have nothing to say, its I 'm not sure how to say it anymore. The same “drama” and appeal to last summer has faded, thankfully. And there has been other characters, but it just didn't seem important enough to give them life. Life got serious, way too serious. My muses went off on adventures, and so have I. Perhaps it was the special concoction of all of our souls, the fates and art fused together.

I live but few blocks from the old residence of the soulmate, and I feel her every time I drive up the battered cobbled roadway. Was she a reason I wrote so much? Did she help me see this world with a child's eye?

The heterosexual life partner is off in a land of cowboys, too proud to change her choice in adventure. I feel like a part of me is missing, that ever so important limb. And much like the “phantom limb” syndrome, I turn and expect to see her walking up my street.

My adventure steered me away from the prairie land...and I thought I had failed. Funny thing about adventures...they never follow the rules. I now live in an old city, surrounded by ghosts. And what now? I'm terribly afraid that the characters I've surrounded myself with...are draining me. But I'm missing that strength to break free. What does it take to make the switch, to regain my creativity but lose the shit.

Count to 10, and start again....