I feel like swearing. A lot.

We can take energy and turn it into matter, we can make electrons change from billiard balls to light waves we can make things dance and sing and pulsate and breathe, but damn if we don't know what happy is.

Watching this show last night, my favorite show, the main character has this mantra that he repeats to everyone to help him make decisions, "family comes first". And it's kind of a joke because the family is so fucking dysfunctional, but the decisions are all made as if that is the keystone to the whole thing. Family comes first. And we were sitting around last night and dad asks me if we're really moving back out west and where to and what for and when. And this big fucking elephant came crashing in through the northern window of the room and sat down right on my chest. I bit back some tears (soldier through it) and tried to not talk about it, went to check my email. And I realized, maybe for the first time, that I'm not entirely happy with the idea of moving back out west.

No, Ohio does not make me happy, but, can a place? I really don't know, can it?

I had these opposing visions of the desperation of the west, and of the desperation of this town. Is it better to be unhappy when you're surrounded by the people who you love most in the world?

What is the purpose of any of this.

Alarming, maybe, but I'll figure it out. I usually do. But god dammit if cigarettes weren't bad for you I would dedicate myself to smoking. I would be a professional fucking smoker and I would write a scientific paper using the hypothesis that nicotine is a gateway drug for creativity. For insecurity, for boredom, for hunger, for emptiness. Me and you and everybody else, we'd all light up.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em, friends.