I haven't written in a while for a few reasons.

• I haven't had the time, what with saving the world one pair of shoes at a time.
• I haven't had too many interesting things running through my mind.
• I am mortified, mystified and other long m-words about something that has proved to be the first impedement to my writing in my entire life.

I have been trying in vain to get myself to sit down, make a resume, and find a "big girl job." You know, the more i think about it, the more I feel myself becoming terrified by success. I mean, let's be honest, I could be in college by now excelling in english and cursing my math teacher. Or I could be in the Navy, on my way to A school. Or I could be in the Academy, a mix of both worlds that would have made everyone proud of me. But no. No, I am selling shoes. I am Al Bundy. What the hell...

The second one isn't at all true and as faithful readers you should have detected that lie a mile away. I have had an amazing amount of things running through y brain like the roadrunner but I have no idea how to articulate them in a way that will suffice. My mind is so full of vivid pictures and dreams that i don't know where to begin. My trip to Hawaii was beautiful, so much so that i wish it were my reality, not my surreality that I partake of once a year. I keep waking up to the warmth of the sunshine and the weight of the thick sweet air only to find that it is a rainy Maryland October Monday and the cat is pawing my face for food.

What with my trip, "The boys," my dissapointment in myself, my joy in everything else, and the renaissance festival, I should have enough material atleast for a few passing shallow entries. But nothing comes. My writing is cramped way up in the corner of my mind and has attached itself with iron chains to the tree of solitude. Why, you ask gentle reader? or perhaps you don't ask. Perhaps you know. Perhaps you're happy about my unfortunate inexpressability. Perhaps this is just the news that sets your heart a-fluttering. You might be one of the two people out of my readers who doesn't believe in freedom of speech and felt it neccessary to tattle on me to someone whom I once respected and now fear with all the passion in my little writers soul. You may be one of the elfin cowards who refused to come to me directly but sent every one in your arsenal of mutual friends and saw no change in my behavior so decidedly you became more harmful, hurtful and all those other nasty h-words.

As if this summer has not caused enough pain to my already deflated and delicate heart, someone had the nerve to invade my inner sanctum. Someone had the gall to say that I was doing wrong by writing about my feelings. Two blog entries ago, I made a lengthy and heartfelt apology to whomever it may have concerned. To whom I had offended I apologized. But I have resently changed my tune, as I am want to do every now and again. I would like to retract my apology. I am not sorry. I am not sorry that you don'tlike what I have to say. I am not sorry that i don't like you. I am not sorry that you are not likeable. I am not sorry that what I had to say about my feelings offended you. If you don't like it, you have the choice to turn away and change the web page. I however have not got the luxery of turning a cheek to my own feelings. The things that you detest so much; the pain and hurt and anger and humiliation I have felt from the things forced upon me throughout this whole ordeal are not my fault. I will not own the action as well as the reaction. I never told you to change. I never force dyou to respect me. I never asked for anything from you. I simply stepped aside and chose to deal with it by myself. Shame on you. Shame on you for taking my sanctuary from me. Shame on you for berating the victim. Shame on you for adding injury to injury. Shame on you for kicking a girl while she's down. I am defeated. You have won. Leave me to my solitude and expression.

I feel as though this will not be the end of it. I feel as though I have been censored. I feel naked, stripped of my dignity and my peace. Tears are not enough. Action fails me. I am, for the first time in my life, unsure, frightened, helpless, dibilitated, defenseless, paralyzed, and exposed. My heart is no longer my own. My head is invaded by alien thoughts of inadequacy.

How dare you judge me.