Asteroids. Oceans.

Something from my childhood.

I turned a corner today.  I rounded the bend, somehow, someway.  I suppose it's natural.  I'm not the type of person to stay on the mat for very long.  I'm too proud, and whether that be foolish pride or not, it's a pride running through my veins nonetheless. 

Today was easier than yesterday, and yesterday was easier than the day before that.  I want to just take a second here and truly thank all of my friends and family for being "with" me right now.  I've just received some really heart-warming support and care from you guys, and it means the world to me.  I want to do better at repaying you and being as good of a man as I can be to each of you.  But, for those of you who do care, you are not unnoticed.

Ever act like an asshole and knock an ant-hill over just to witness the carnage while simultaneously looming like some supreme celestial being?  As a kid, I used to do that whenever I was roaming the forests and prairies of Northwestern Montana with my uncle.  We used to love that shit.  Hell, one time we rounded up all the red ants we could find in one bucket, and para-troopered them WW2 style to a black carpenter ant hill, which had been similarly punted.  Then we watched them go Mortal Kombat on each other for hours and marveled at our godliness.  Yes, this may be indicative of a terrible flaw in the psyche of Mr. Adam.  Not American Psycho chasing chicks with a chainsaw flawed, of course, but perhaps just a little demented... :)

Now, you aren't really going to win me over with a "sympathy for the ants" plea here.  Destroying stuff for no good reason is, well, unjustified.  But that's what adolescent boys do, while we flex our new-found muscles and our ever developing sphere of influence over the world.  Boys can be very, very cruel.  We crush.  We stomp.  We break.  We explode.  We.... kill.  At times, I was no different.  When you're immature, sometimes you just do stupid shit for the sake of doing it.  And, to this day, if a troop of ants decides to randomly invade and do loop-de-loops around my kitchen ceiling for God knows what reason... well... say hello to a murderous giant.  You climbed the wrong beanstalk, beeyatch.

In any case, once in a while, while I spin the great wheel of introspection towards the significant and/or insignificant plights I experience, I generally come out feeling rueful and full of a self-deprecating irony.  Irony, you know, permeating the ways I "tried" to change things, or the ways I "believed" things might occur, and the actual opposite ways they inevitably go down.  In moments like these, I ask myself if the universe might not be just some 200x larger Adam who just kicked over my anthill and went looking for his magnifying glass and firecrackers.  Maybe so.

So as I round the bend on this most recent chapter in my life, I have to consider whether or not we all might just be some kind of astral, planetary bodies colliding at random like synapses firing off in the night.  We drift towards each other.  Gravity pulls us in.  We collide.  We merge.  We shatter.  We depart, forever on an altered course, drifting off once more into the great unknown.  We will never be the same.

It starts as a molecule.  It's a droplet.  It's a cup of water.  It's a puddle you splash through.  It's a rivulet moving forward.  It's a gentle stream.  It's a tributary.  It's a frothing river full of rage.  It's a gulf.  It's an ocean.

And now here we stand, across an ocean, unspoken, removed from each other and impassable.  We drift on altered courses. 

Scars are souvenirs you never lose.  We will never be the same.