People will talk about anything. They'll blog about anything. And by "anything" I mean "nothing." Nothing at all. I do not exclude myself from this population of blabberers. Perhaps if we just took a little more time, put a little more thought into what we say... well, it would be interesting. It might be illuminating or, at least, entertaining. But for the most part, it's simply boring. Just plain boring.

I mean, I actually posted that I bought a toilet seat! WTF? Who cares? I don't care. Why should you? If it weren't for the fact that I found a moderately amusing picture of a guitar toilet seat, it would have been a pure act of self-indulgence that not even I would have taken pleasure in. And I wasn't even drunk when I wrote that!

So I promise to make every entry count. I will never blog about some trivial event that only concerns me. I will do my best to offer something that will make you smile, or laugh even. I will try to make you think or feel. I will attempt to manipulate you - piss you off, get you down, or lift you up. I will try. I will fail but I will try.

If I have absolutely nothing to say, I will say nothing. And if a thought itches me, I will scratch it for a while and see if it goes away on its own. If it refuses to leave, I will share it with you; maybe you can scratch it better than I. And if I fail to stimulate even the smallest nerve, tell me. Curse me. Delete me. Unfriend me. Don't encourage me.

And if I do generate a spark, no matter how dim, it will be my honor.

Now, time to go break in that new toilet seat...

Suddenly, it was many years later. My family was scattered about the land. Friends moved in different directions to follow their dreams. There were letters and phone calls, updates and reminisces of youth. There was always the sense that the sun was shining ever brighter and that the horizon was steady ahead and reachable.

The spaces grew between phone calls and letters, but the emails picked up. Pictures came with unfamiliar faces next to old friends and family. And then, pictures of faces that were similar more than familiar of people from the past. We got older and our dreams grew tired and we put them to rest. We put our children to bed.

We forgot to call, forget to write. Didn't even email. No updates or shared recollections. No pictures. There were bills to pay, mouths to feed. Can a busy life make room for the past?

Suddenly, it was many years later and they were all gone. Out of my life. And I miss them all. I love them all. And I think about each and every one, each and every day.

And it breaks my heart that I never said good-bye.