Life is many things and easy is not one of them. Simple isn't one either. They don't really prepare us for what's to come or what to feel. The depressives don't tell their children on the realities of finding a glass to be half full. The mother holds back from relenting on the trials of her youth. The father withholds the story of the time he came too close to the edge.

They hold it all in because in many ways we hope they won't ever have to face them. We pat them on the head and say nothing will ever harm them and I'll provide. They never think of their kids mapping out their funerals, or hiding in a bathroom stall. You never picture coming in to visit them in a place like Holliswood.

So here I am again typing on this blog like I've done for some years now. Not to go on about how bad I feel or about whatever is going on in my wormy brain. It's just to say that sometimes we take for granted our childhood. As a kid I was always sighing and crying and lonely. Just a tad but enough to merge into my collection of cliches. And although I wasn't really the happiest kid in the world I was oblivious to so much and ignorance is indeed bliss. I look into the eyes of kids and wish to be them...temporarily stuck in this time bomb of the here and now. Instead I wonder about the day to day and year to year.