Where to begin.

Telling the story of my life has never been an easy venture. I’m quite biased you see, so it’s difficult to say whether I’m having a good one or having a really good one. Giving you all an accurate view of my slice can only be done through the first person, because I, telling you, am a character, being played out right now, inside the story. I’m not Jiminy Cricket. If I tell you what’s going on with me, you’re getting everything I’m telling you and nothing more. Everything I believe in puts some skewered identification tag on everything. Everything. Telling it what importance it has to my priorities. What will I think of? What will I think next of? What will I remember? What will I forget? What will I blank on? Check for the skew. Because the top five is what I’ll remember. The following five I’ll forget. Two of which will be important. Two of which will be trivial. The cheat code for Turok, the first one, for N64 seems to hold a constant in the top ten. NTHGTHDGDCRTDTRK. Ridiculous. This is what you get. Beyond that I’m at the mercy of my own conscious, which means you are too. Whatever floats around in the sea of my subconscious, branded with a skew mark stacks up, all the way from the bottom. Deep down at the seabed childhood. That’s a rubix cube needle in an ocean haystack of what makes me, me. Beyond this thin brick wall. It seems like I don’t know myself, although I know I do. I know who I am. I know what makes me, me. It just seems like an ocean with a thousand little boats. I don’t know where to start or what to make of it. I don’t want to be lost out there trying to figure myself out. I’m happy with what I am, who I am and where I am. So I’m done typing.