Saying anything is better than saying nothing.

I would say that this is going to be an insightful post filled with self-reflections and invaluable wisdom, but that would be a lie. Instead, this post only skims the surface of a larger and undocumented problem; the first of which is that people are rude assholes. How difficult is it to turn their lights off when they are pointed in the window of a business right at the eye levels of individuals sitting at a table and enjoying their evenings? Pretty goddamn difficult, apparently.

That wasn’t the rant that I’d intended to go on when I started that last paragraph. Although, to be honest, I don’t think that I know where this is even going, but I felt a deeper desire to write something; to write anything. Because writing anything at all is better than writing nothing. There is always something that deserves to escape. Or rather, I deserve to let it go instead of keeping it to myself.

I find it difficult recently to follow an open and honest rhetoric with every single person in my life. I went from on extreme to the other without considering that some people still fall inside the gray area. There are people who don’t deserve to know who I am exactly and that’s okay. Those people are associates that provide background to life; like an extra in a big screen production. If you even learn their names, you never really bother to remember them because they are expendable.

It is hard to believe that it is almost February when it seems that the year just began yesterday evening. Two months from now it will be the spring and I will find myself on an untold number of outdoors adventures; alone and with friends. I prefer the heat of the summer beating down on my skin to the chill that runs all the way to my bones; like the snow that falls aggressively outside the window right now. From the warm perspective of a chain coffee shop, the drifting flakes look almost peaceful, but the temperature drops steadily and that can only mean that the roads are attempting to freeze right now.

Another hour passes in writing; but not really. It only feels like the hours are dragging by unfulfilled because this rant has brought nothing of substance to the surface. It only continues by at a snail’s pace with nothing being bared. Perhaps, this type of writing is better suited to blank page and ink.

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