The last thing I want to do is write about truthful things. I will expend all my energy in attempts to avoid introspection. I will go through every emotion, shop in every store, practice every exercise, water every plant. I will eat every peanut, watch every show, drink every smoothie, shoot every basket.

I am pacing myself, you say. Maybe. I am learning through all these external activities and relationships, you claim. Could be. Then why does it feel in my heart of hearts that I am simply running? Simply averting my eyes? I certainly get annoyed at that heart of hearts. I think I want it to leave me alone. But is that true? Isn’t it my only salvation? I am a giant jerk to it. If I were see-through, translucent, what would be visible on the inside? Some red, burning shapes? A community of characters in chaos? The truth would become evident.

originally published on 4/18/08