I am flooded with an almost uncontrollable urge to cry. . . to loosen all my burdens upon this strong and vital earth. Yet one cannot unleash from himself that which is his part in nature's unceasing life cycle. I am as essential, or nonessential, as every living organism; it must follow then, that I make no demands which cannot possibly be fulfilled. I am nature, and like all aspects of nature I, too, must respect the passing of seasons within my life. Things change rapidly; still others remain relatively the same; across the ravine, the graveyard stands as a solid marker of the past, and a constant reminder that no one leaves the earth alive. Forget it. I cannot write. It seems that one's inner thoughts happen to be the most difficult to express. Writing used to be easier. But then, perhaps, the more one (experiences) the harder it is to write it down. The nearer one is to death, the less words can express one's true feelings. Words would not do justice to my feelings. Perhaps I am only passing off my inability to write... but I think not. However, I shall try again... Am I at the end of the road? Have I nothing left to say? Spring soon descended on the earth, and though I tried to envelope myself in its many splendors, I felt them spinning dizzily away, with summer following close behind like a shadow which remains hidden due to the dimness of the sun. The forthcoming season was recognized as one of rest and relaxation, but viewing the month which lay before me brought no inner comfort, for my time had already been reserved by the desires of others, gazing apprehensively at the calendar, months were swallowed by demands which I felt I could not impede, so concerned were those who wished to "see me," the rarity which would soon disappear from the face of the earth. "How shall I withstand the whirlwind?" I asked myself. "When am I to live?" For one who is essentially a loner, not only wanting, but needing, time alone, enjoyment of life decreases as social activities increase. Initially, I plunged bravely into summer, hoping that if I met its demands head-on, I could more easily manipulate my necessity for quiet interludes; I further supposed that significant hints would prove sufficient impetus under which to situate free time. Alas, I was wrong, and to my dismay, found myself on the edge of thorough emotional duress. Rather than risking a relationship due to a brash, beseeching plea for peace on my behalf, I allowed myself to rend internally, leaving a tattered remnant of myself at the summer's end. There is only one respite to that assertion, that was time spent with Norm on the week-ends or on the trip to Colorado...