A long time ago when I was contemplating existence with a close friend (at least one so close at the time), I commented idly about how I felt that life did not travel a linear path nor one so simply circular.  No, I mentioned that I believed life traveled in spirals, constantly returning us to moments from our past... but with new perspectives, knowledge, or other such growth.  We might choose to disagree or believe that such self-awareness is never so acutely familiar, but I find it hard to accept.

Curiously, this has become all too true of my own existence, and quite ironically the topic of my first return post.  I have traversed all my old stomping grounds; this blog, and the many others that lay vacant from past seasons.  Indeed, I have seen all too often the promises, dreams, desires, and wishes that have plagued me since time immemorial.  Some embarrassing, some heartwarming, and others quite laughable.

And I, in my spiral stairway, desperately hold onto the hope that I have grown, even if only minimally. Even if only in my perception of self.  I know that ultimately, in some vein physical, emotional, or spiritual, that I do not find myself at familiar crossroads unchanged.  Indeed, even if I wanted to believe that I might find myself crossing old footpaths ignorantly, I cannot bring myself to release the burden of proof.  I have grown.  I have changed.

I have dreamed, and now it is time to lay those dreams to rest.

I think I'll be dialing things back a bit, turning in new directions, and trying to spice up the blog of life... or at least, the blog of my life.  Less weepy, whiny, self-opining, nostalgia drama.  More pictures, day-to-day, and fun fun fun fun.  Even Rebecca Black would be proud.

Actually, my daily web browsing introduced me to some 52 writing prompts, and I think I'll start doing those each Wednesday.  A "Writing Wednesday" if you will.  Name subject to change, of course. Anywho, let's get to the pictures.

This is a picture of the top of my computer monitor at work.  Toy soldiers.  Arguably the best toy for little boys everywhere.  I got this from an arcade that I went to with her, though I honestly can't remember the name or place.  It might've been the old GameWorks that was at the Pike, but is now noticeably absent (though there's a nice $1 book store down there!).

These were some of the cheapest items you could redeem for and for good reason.  Looking at the above, the guy on the left seems alright.  The guy in the middle, tossing the grenade, has a wonky base.  And the guy on the right looks like he came out of a cartoon.  Just look how the nozzle of his gun is drooping!  But before you think Commander Green is doing alright, make sure you get a closer look.


Those are some of the worst bug-eyes I've ever seen!  Sorry for the fuzzy pic, my camera finger isn't used to such bloggy-photography.  Not seen in either of these pics, the grey soldier's eye is sliding off his face.

The ironic part is, despite these being poorly made toys, I kind of like having them hanging around the office.  They were certainly not my first choice for office decoration (I'll probably share more of it later on), but there's a nice sense of playfulness they bring.  I can daydream and imagine that they are giving me covering fire while I make a phone call or that they are on lookout for when my boss drops by my desk.

Or I can just laugh at the cheap paint job.  At ease, soldiers!

This was a post I intended to make last Friday, but time got away from me.  Or rather moody selfishness did, but that's a tale for another time.

Friday was a terrible day for me.  Just one of those foul-mooded, rotten, wish I had stayed in bed, kind of days.  The days where other people reap rewards, but in return you just feel even more miserable.  Flashes of green, wailing cries of broken dreams, and all that is usually included with such sour visitations.

Friday was terrible.  But leave it to her to snap me out of it.

That's one of the things that annoys me about her.  She has this nasty habit of not letting me stew over such mired emotions.  As a resident depressant, I must contend that I enjoy letting deep seated feelings of hurt boil and bubble.  There's none of that now, but that's what makes her significant.  She has the gentle touch to viscerally rip me away from such dark place.

It caused me to stop and ponder over the term "significant other," and where it applies in the matrix of relationships.  To offer up my own definition, a significant other is the kind of person who reads you instantly.  When I step in the door, it's no mystery to her just exactly what I'm feeling.  Likewise, a significant other knows how to affect those feelings.  I know the kinds of words I can use to help or harm her, as comic books often remind us... "With great power comes great responsibility."  It's the type of person that can make you want something you didn't want.  The type of person that can pull you up from a low point.  The type of person that will stop the clock and enter a midsection in the space of cosmic reality with you, leaving you the comfort and emotional assistance necessary to both grieve and grow. Words do little to describe with what incredible expertise these persons use wordless deeds.

I'm often one to champion her as some tantamount elevation in my personal existence, and it should come as no surprise since it inhabits part of the title of this blog.  But largely, I feel it is simply my duty to uphold and cherish her.  It is not perfection that I describe, but rather the imperfect joys and revelations of a relationship so finely crafted and designed that dares to touch upon the outskirts of perfection.  It may not be perfection, but it is perfectly-suited for me.