It's the 4th anniversary of my xanga, and all I can say is the weather is nice.  Overcast skies, temperate breezes.  I couldn't ask for a better morning.

I am seriously stressed out and depressed this morning but I'm determined to have good days from here on out.  I'm torn about how much I should let life affect me.  

I'm going through quite the writing dry spell.  Just waiting on that muse.  I can't seem to find the same peace with words as of late.  Some days it all seems so pointless. And really, how do you phrase her smile?  Record his touch?  Paint the emptiness when it's over?  More and more, it just feels like we're struggling to uncover some holy grail of metaphors to miraculously encapsulate life in a fish tank where every action and every motion can be effortlessly described.  It feels we're trying to impossibly catch the elusive moments of life.  And it all seems so pointless.  But maybe there's something to be said for the journey, for the past valiant efforts, for the future faith in decoding the labyrinth.  Maybe it's not enough just to understand life but to feel it.  Maybe.