Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present you with...(Drumroll and cymbal crash): My first blog post

Hi people.  Theoretical as you may be, I dream of the day that you will all be real boys and girls - all reading, sighing, laughing, crying, belching, closing your browsers in disgust... One day you shall all be real readers and on that day that you all become real readers does that mean that I will become a real writer?  Oh I sure hope so.    For how I yearn to be a real writer! Though, for a not-so-strange reason I feel compelled to try to stop you now before it's too late.  For you see, my dearest theoretical readers, I worry for your sake.  The writing you are or shall soon be reading does not come from the mind of someone to whom you should give your trust.  No my lovelies, I will come clean before I even commit the crime: I am going to lie to you.  I'm going to gaze into your innocent little eyes - all the hundreds or thousands of shining eyes - and I'm going to seduce you with bald-faced untruths.  And you know what?  You will like it.  You might even delude yourself into believing that you love it, or, god forbid, that you love me.  But you know what else?  I will get away with the crime I commit against you. In fact, I already have.

If you are still reading, you are doing so having been warned, and apparently not taking that warning very seriously (an act I would advise against, but hey, we are all subject to free will and if you would like to be the agent of your own undoing, who am I to stop you?), and I can begin with my rants.  Welcome to my life.  Or I should say, welcome to my mind.  It is very dear to meet you, my new friends and acquaintances.  I am writing.  More specifically, I am the writing of a young such-and-such named Kerry.  In the beginning I was scrawled with crayons, my letters with too many appendages and not always adding up to anything with meaning.  For years after that I was in boot camp, being given what I needed to subsist but without any notion of what it must be like to be free to do make my own decisions about what to do with myself.  I suppose in retrospect we are nothing if we are never forced through at least one period of suffering, or at the very least, discomfort.  Once my splints were removed, I was a little bit awkward and shy.  I appeared in the odd text message or note left for a roommate or a lover.  When I really let fly and filled notebooks, I was ashamed of myself and mostly forced myself to stick to the shadows of an underwear drawer or neglected corner of a closet.  But it's all going to be different now, you see?  I've been very quietly building up the strength and the panache to seduce those would-be critics (yes I'm talking to you, all my theoretical readers) into liking me, and if I'm really lucky, into taking me seriously.  For I am writing, and I am Kerry.  So hear me type.

I am Kerry and I love writing.  I am writing and I love myself.  Perhaps my greatest defect is the inability to love people as much as I love words.  I love people though words, I suppose.  Without people there are no words.  I am fascinated by them.  How they play together, how they act in certain situations.  I could watch them for days and months and years and never get tired or bored.  Because there are always more!  Perhaps words should be considered one of the world's greatest resources.  Or perhaps I am simply an addict, no better off than the toothless man in the pharmacy trying to get more Sudafed.  No, push these negative thoughts aside.  People say words are good and drugs are bad.  People are right.  I forget that so often.  And anyhow, we all only get one life to live and why waste it worrying if we are doing the right thing all the time?  Sometimes everybody is wrong.  Everybody is wrong sometimes.  Sorry, Buddhists and Hindus and all believers in reincarnation and afterlives...I find the idea beautiful and I would love to believe in it with all my heart, but something always stops me.  My heart is a free agent and he believes what he wants to, and the latest message coming in is that there is a perfectly good time happening right here and right now.  You can see it, smell it, touch it, taste it and hear it.  Or maybe you can only do three or four of those things, still ain't bad.  You can still feel it.  Everybody brings what they have to the table and then we all eat and we all dance and we all live our one life together.  At least, that's the way I think things should be.

Sometimes I think that I speak like someone who has experienced hardship.  And I haven't.  At least nothing too special.  No major diseases or health problems to speak of.  Yes, I was in New York for 9/11 but I was relatively unaffected by the tragedy.  Yes, I've been nursing a broken marriage for the past year which sometimes still flairs up, but in some strange way all of that bad noise brought me closer to who I really am, which in turn brought me closer to the wonderful people I have the honor of calling my friends and family, and somewhat unexpectedly also brought me and my partner closer together.  (You will all meet him soon, promise).  In short probably the most important realization that I have made in my life is that my problems are drivel.  What's important is making the most out of this, my one life to live.