The Internet is so big, so powerful and pointless that for some people it is a complete substitute for life.

Every phase of my life, I seem to create a new blog to express it. This is my "Pissed at the world that I love so much" Phase.

I only have 5 hours of battery to write 3yrs of my life in 30 minutes. I know it's nowhere near possible, because I'm not really that good of a typist. I'm sure I'll have a chance to make up for the shortcoming tomorrow morning - that is if I remember who I am in the morning. 

My days usually start off well. Wake up from a lovely fantasy of my subconscious choosing. Sit up in bed with a faint recollection of warm cuddles and surprised expressions from the night before. It's relative bliss, this ignorance.. so I hold on as long as I can. I hold on to this vagueness and this hope. I imagine and I hope. 

And when she strikes at me. When my reality lunges out to prick me. She sticks me where it hurts. She knows me and she finds the best places to lay me out. 

I still believe that I married a dreamer. Someone who could live in a fantasy so vividly that it became everyone's reality. She had a spirit and a shimmer. She inspired me with innocence and charm even in her darkness. She's the kind that can make anything happen, if that particular anything had her confidence. 

But Confidence is dangerously rare, and reserved for her first family. But we are but her second, or more likely even her third. Her place in her world has no companion place for me. I am but a servant, forced to partake from the outside. And often enough, she - the same - must partake as an outsider. But she chooses to do this with her third family, us. She's made a conscious choice to live apart, separate from me. Separate from her third world embarrassment.

And I watch as the bitterness grows.

She traded us for control. By standing outside, she knows where she stands. No one can challenge, if she's out of everyone's reach. But neither can they love.

Maybe I pricked her first - perhaps I destroyed her spirit. Perhaps my shadows consumed that light between her own slender shadows. Fear on fear with no more spots to hide. Or perhaps it is unrelenting doubt, creeping in on the quiet times. A world surrounding her lamp, blowing it's flame in all directions at once or in none at all. I may already know, but I may never know. It may be all at once, or none at all. For everything that I know is flawed. Just as everything I do is futile.

Time for bed. 'night. 

-len

*Faith

*Hope

*Love