You are my crack. My heroin. My speedball and my marijuana.

I try to kick the habit.

As much as we all do, really. There is no try. Only do.

Yoda.

You knew that (hopefully).

I haven’t written because of time and energy. Time, well, open a business that is your life. Your soul. The only thing you know, really. The thump. Thump. Thump. The heart.

I know my girl. And my pup. And my other pup.

And my bar.

Do you want an update?

Probably not. And I understand. I have nothing to ad to or enhance your life. I wanted to write and I didn’t.

I wanted to write because I wanted to write. And I didn’t want to write because I didn’t want to complain.

Of you readers, none of you will know… which is not condescending… what this is.

Have you given birth? I haven’t. I bet it sucks. And is amazing.

What I have sucks. And is amazing. If you know me you know I wear my heart on my sleeve. I am not here to impress. Honestly, I had no idea anyone but my dad and mom read this.

I come to you in sickness.

I apologize for that.

I will tempt you with candy, if I can, however.

My bar is good. Really good. I will give everything I have to make it the best. Everything but my girl. And my pup. I have done that before and my regrets will follow me to my grave. I will dig my own grave and be proud of it. I hope.

Fuck. I sound bitter and beaten down.

I am the opposite of what I want to be.

I am scared, granted. But I have laid my everything, literally, into this. My bitterness is my fear.

Stand naked before the world. Bear your heart. Lay out your cock. Spread your vagina. Show it to the world.

Stand there with it all out there and I will be impressed. Stand there with no fear and I will not trust you.

In my life, I have never been as broke as I am. I have never believed in what I am doing more than this.

An therein lies the dichotomy.

I am, you read and may not believe, but I am happy. Terrified. Happy, and living. And lucky.

Are you alive? Really?

Star Bar. Throwin’ philosophical on your ass.