Back to School

Hi everyone!

Update: I have enrolled back in school and am finishing up my Associate’s Degree with a plan to go on to a 4-year university and study History. What a wild four weeks I’ve had getting this all together.

I’m still working hard on my screenplays and music. Currently, I am working through the pilot episode of my television series, Atlas Light, and writing one scene per week, leaving room for “edit days” when I can get them. I am also working on Retrospection’s new EP Roses & Honey over at Animal Kingdom. Hoping to finish that up pretty soon and get it mixed, mastered, and unleashed.

I still have a lot to say on this blog (obviously, I have a lot more adventures to reley from my Celebrated Summer). I plan on finishing up all of the currently standing blogs that I have, in due time.

Life is full of excitement and adventure, and I thank God for all of the opportunities I have before me.

I am NOT abandoning this blog. Still so much to say and I will try to allot the correct amount of time to this blog at least once a week.

Peace, Love, & Math my friends 😛


Flashback Post: Birthdays and Such (Part 3)

Flashback Post: Birthdays and Such (Part 3)

I love those pictures from the morning of my 18th birthday. Though my eyes are tired-looking, half-blinking in some doofus expression, I can tell that there is pure joy there, something deeper going on in that kid. That kid was me 9 years ago, and he was on to much bigger things. He had a much greater sense, a direct perception, of God’s Love and that truly divine peace and guidance. There was love abounding in knowledge and depth of insight. That’s all there in those photos. And there’s a freedom there, a knowledge that soon, high school would be over, bigger and greater and beyond was coming up, a conversation that I had had with my mother at the United on Gem Lake Road a few months prior. That church steeple seemed closer.

But high school itself was something great. I can say that (probably putting myself in some minority) with assurance. Senior year in particular was a time of intimate bonding, friendships that flourished more brilliantly than I had ever hoped. Everything was organic and exciting. I had friends in every grade, had a fixed identity that was all mine.

That morning, when I finally did roll in to school, I did so in very high and even cocky spirits. I was 18 now. Whoever you knew the day prior, he had evolved, this was 2.0 or something. I might have even been too good for your classes now. My 1st period that year was with a group of freshmen, taking Biology, a course I had missed out on in my previous 3 years. It may sound like a nightmare to some, but I genuinely loved those kids. I made some fast friends in there. I don’t remember if I told any of them that it was my birthday when I rolled in. It occurs to me now that exactly one week prior, some 168 hours back, I had come to this classroom in much different spirits. That was the day that Pork Chop left us. He still lived so close in my heart.

I don’t remember exactly what Andrew or Scott said to me, or particularly any special birthday greeting I received that day. I’m sure my closest friends knew, but the exact memory of their words to me and any salutations are not readily visible in my hindsight.

I’m sure they were wonderful.

Stay tuned…

Peace and Love

Summer: July 13th-Pizza and Other Happenings at Camp Nudist (Part 2)

Summer: July 13th-Pizza and Other Happenings at Camp Nudist (Part 2)

That Saturday, July 9th, was a bit heavy. What sticks out in my memory is talking to Cacy via facebook messenger, sitting up at the bar next to the baristas. She was motivating herself to get to Lowes. We talked about places to eat and such. She sent me a photo of what attire she’d be wearing out; it was a very befitting outrageous.  I was planning to eat at Golden Light, but as I made my way over to 6th street, my phone (following a restart after a battery drain) started having some compatibility problems with my car audio features. One of the greatest aspects about my Nissan was that I could plug my phone directly into it via a charging cable and play music directly from my Spotify over the car speaker. This meant that Fugazi, Husker Du, The Stooges, Bikini Kill, etc was always blaring from my stereo, all while the phone was being charged. It was glorious. But now, it was giving me trouble. A connection would be made, then soon dropped, then soon remade, then dropped again. I pulled over on the curb next to the Golden Light, growing steadily more frustrated. Without this feature, my car was worthless.

Characteristically me, I jumped to the worst conclusion that the entire system was now broken and that Sylvia’s best feature was now in ruins. I forfeited my plans at Golden Light and headed home, eventually to get the issue resolved in one way or another (side note: I ended up trying and buying at least two different cords for the car’s axillary port; sometimes the feature worked just fine, other times it didn’t. I think it was a problem with my phone. Since getting a new phone in October, I have only had this problem once or twice. It seems to be working pretty well now).

In the next few days, Cacy and I finalized plans of changing her living situation. It was decided that moving would commence in one massive haul on Wednesday evening July 13th. On Facebook, Cacy’s residence was affectionately dubbed Camp Nudist. I had long loved the title and had genuinely wondered if there was some sort of sans-clothing imperative that was enforced for all who visited. If this was the case, I’m not sure how this whole plan would work out; surely moving personal belongings out of Camp Nudist wouldn’t have to be done in the buff. Maybe there was some special contingency in place. Perhaps we’d be doing all the packing and interior work nude and then get our clothes back on for all the outdoor loading stuff. Such silliness abounding.

Wednesday came and Cacy gave me the details. We made an agreement that I would pick up a pizza from Papa Murphy’s on my way over. In all of my several pizza escapades, I don’t think I had ever had a Papa Murphy’s pizza. There was one located near to where Camp Nudist was, and I placed an order online while at work that afternoon. Cacy sent me a screenshot of where to locate Camp Nudist: it was an image from the maps app that had had some personal illustration thrown in.

If one googles Papa Murphy’s, as I have just done while writing this post, they will see that Papa Murphy’s website is listed as Papa Murphy’s Take N’ Bake Pizza Love (etc…). From this information, one could easily guess that Papa Murphy’s provides specialty pizzas that one must take with them and cook at a separate location. Such a guess would be absolutely correct. However, while placing my order on Papa Murphy’s website that afternoon, I was oblivious to any such statement of purpose. Hence, I rolled into Papa Murphy’s about 6:00, and was dumbfounded when they handed me an uncooked pizza wrapped in plastic. My expression was somewhere between bewildered and stupefied, and I only wonder what the employees thought at my silent hesitation as I held my purchase. Not wanting to appear completely stupid, I thanked the individuals behind the counter and made my way out the door. I figured that I would have to do the best with what I had. By the time I got to Camp Nudist, I had probably put all the pieces together correctly.

I followed Cacy’s instructions as best I could, parking near where her location was marked on the screenshot/art project she had sent me from her phone. There was a large semi parked nearby, and a horse or two on the other side of a fence not far from me. I was on that side of town that had an integrated rural/urban feel to it. There are still places like this in Amarillo. It’s quite refreshing to see and appeals to that country life, quiet ranch desire in me (more on that in future posts, maybe).

I waited, and waited, and waited some more. Cacy wasn’t responding to my messages. I was nervous to go knock on any door of the houses directly across the street. There was a sense of the discreet and outcast to this whole escapade; I didn’t want to come in between any sensitive situation that I sensed might be going on. Cacy finally got back to me and made her way outside to guide me to exactly where I needed to be. We laughed over my inability to grasp Papa Murphy’s purpose, their “clever” little niche in the pizza world.

I followed her around the block to Camp Nudist, through an alley of sorts that allowed us to reach the proper entrance.

What was Camp Nudist like? What lay ahead on this evening?

I have a lot more to say about this wonderful summer, and more to say about this story. The sage of summer 2016 must carry on, and I apologize for the delay in getting these posted. I love this summer, and I love who I was this summer. I look to these memories daily for motivation in every way.

Here’s to 2018 and carrying on with my memories and making new ones.

Part 3 coming soon!!!!!!!

God’s Love & Peace to all!!!!

Flashback: Overcoming the Gorge, no matter how Royal (part 6)

Flashback: Overcoming the Gorge, no matter how Royal (part 6)

Okay, let’s get back to this series. A brief recap: I was riding that long bus ride to our departure point onto the Arkansas River. I was properly on edge the entire journey, entertaining vague notions of my impending demise upon the jagged rocks and rapids that lay ahead. I have this occasional bad tendency to dwell on the negative and these absurd worst-case-scenarios. This is most salient when I’m anxious or when I have some nagging worry on my mind. In this case, I was still nominally concerned with what the night would bring, if I would have trouble relaxing again, if I would embarrass myself once again amongst my friends, if they would see that awful version of me that’s infected with fear. That’s a me that is completely apart from the me that I want to be, of the me that I can be at my best, and honestly, the me that I was most consistently and assuredly when I was in high school. I think we all know firsthand to varying degrees how fear can affect us so negatively and warp our best potentials.

I pushed down my worry and carried on, praying and hoping for the best. Everyone else was excited. Maybe I could be do. I needed to get back into the zone, that zone that I had been in when we had departed. I needed to remember my identity, my divinity. This was the time to remember who I am in Christ, a journey and a revelation I had been steadily learning and pursuing for nearly two years.

When we got to the launch point, we were split into our groups and we cast out onto the water.

I’m not that familiar with being on boats. When I departed for senior trip, I had never been to the ocean before, nor to any sea or large body of water. My sailing expertise was limited to summer trips to Meredith and Ute Lakes in the glorious summer of 2007 (one of the all-time most wonderful periods of my life; more on that in the future). I loved the water, but I was far from feeling comfortable on it. I really wasn’t even that good of a swimmer. But I did enjoy the pool and the peace that water could bring. I wondered how much peace this encounter with the water might bring me.

We spent the initial sailing time going over the instructions we would need. There was a big emphasis on team work, commands that the raft instructor would give from his position on the back of the craft, and we would have to synchronize our paddling to match his command. Right Forward, Left Reverse, these are the kinds of things you have to master quickly for these expeditions. They’re extremely easy to memorize thankfully, and if you keep your ears open and your wits about you, this kind of guided rafting can be extremely enjoyable and enlightening. And it was all of this  for me. As we got further out onto the river, my fear began to subside. Maybe it was a result of the newfound focus that was required on our immediate path, on getting through all the upcoming treacherous water. I had to pay attention to the now, to put out the worry of the later. The Arkansas River and all of its peril and presence would do the trick. I thank God for the healing power of nature.

We experienced our first rapids. Small amounts of fear shot up in me, but I conquered them with decided and firm motions of my paddle, my companions and I navigating our way through with surprising ease. Though I was voted one of the class spiritual leaders in a recent senior class awards type thing, I knew that in this situation, I was far from the leader. I was here to serve my group, and by the grace of God, I was reclaiming my once-shaken courage.

I found in our raft instructor much wisdom. He regaled us with stories of his own life as well as stories from the river. He told us about how he had gone to college and obtained a degree that took some considerable effort and time, only to find out that a job in this desired field left him lacking internally. He found his way back to his first love, rafting, and became an instructor (no easy task either). His words truly inspired me. God was speaking to me. My courage was returning. I was finding my way back to me.

Much more to relay.

Stay tuned.

Hope you’re having a great February.

Peace and Love to everyone 🙂

Flashback Post: Birthdays and Such (Part 2)

Flashback Post: Birthdays and Such (Part 2)

What was the Spirit speaking to me that Wednesday? It was something inarticulate, something warm and rich, something that started as a feeling, growing into a hope. It wasn’t any direct message, but I think there was more of a personal reassurance, something sensed for the year ahead, something subtle but sure.

I left church and headed home. My mother and Jacob were still braving the backed up traffic on I-40 this evening. I jokingly wondered if she were going to make it home in time for my 18th. My dad went out for a bit. It was that evening that I first sensed the weight of Pork’s passing, the empty space in the house. I thought I saw him out of the corner of my eye, turned to look and realized that he was gone. I missed my friend.

My mom eventually did make it home safe and sound, and the family was reunited for my last hours of being 17. I don’t quite remember what was on my mind that night as I went to sleep. I was probably quite peaceful, wrapped in the loving embrace of my sweet Lord and endowed with some intuitive understanding that this coming year would be very special and very important.

The next morning, I awoke an official adult in the eyes of the country. I was now old enough to buy tobacco, vote (I had missed the 2008 presidential election by being two months, too young), register for selective service… I also had to get a new driver’s license. Oh the joys of turning 18.

But at my home, I was the star of the show. Warmly greeted by my parents that morning, I proceeded to dress in something provocative enough to honor my sophomore year punk rock fashion sensibilities. A few pictures of this attire are still saved on my computer: white buttoned shirt, pink tie, hair spiked up.

We went to Pancake Station for breakfast, I’m not sure if I ordered my high school specialty (peanut-butter chocolate chip waffles). As 8:00 neared, my parents offered to let me go to school late that day; we didn’t want to rush these beautiful moments.

I eventually did head off to school, feeling taller and somehow more self-assured. It was time to start something new.

I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet 😉

More coming soon…

Flashback Post: Birthdays and Such (Part 1)

Flashback Post: Birthdays and Such (Part 1)

My 18th birthday stands out as one of the best memories of my life. To be clear, I have been very fortunate to have had several outstanding birthdays, many wonderful friends and family surrounding me. But this one, no matter how old I get, always seems to outshine. Allow me to recap:

It was my senior year of high school. Things were actually going quite splendidly in my world. I was quite confident in my abilities, my own eclectic punk rock mystic personality. I had risen to some kind of high status among the faculty and some of the students, something I still find odd for a kid who had made a point of trying to be a blatantly rebellious John Bender wannabee. Maybe we can call it growth; it was certainly the product of my ever-growing relationship with Jesus.

My 18th birthday fell on a Thursday that year. It was surely something significant, I was probably pondering it in the preceding days, pondering over what it meant to turn 18, what changes it could bring to my life and what existential opportunities it might carry. I reckon many of us have such weighty ideas on our mind as we approach 18.

However, my forthcoming birthday wasn’t all that was on my mind early that week. 7 days before I was to turn 18, our family dog Pork Chop left us. He had had diabetes for a few months, and though we had been giving him regular insulin, the disease was really taking its toll on him. He wasn’t the dog he had used to be. It was incredibly hard for all of us to go through. Pork Chop had been my birthday present 11 years before. He wasn’t with us nearly long enough.

I think we all handled the grief in our own way. It was still too immediate for me to be able to cry like I wanted to. My mom went to Oklahoma a few days later to visit my brother. During the time she was gone, a wild storm struck the land between us, resulting in my mother and my brother’s friend Jacob driving back to Amarillo on the eve of my birthday in incredibly stalled and tumultuous traffic.

That night, my last night of being 17, I went to church. My friend Chase was the leader of the youth group at First Nazarene, and I had been going with increasing regularity every Wednesday night. Chase was going through a 4 week series that was highlighting spiritual insights gained from the films of M. Night Shyamalan. If memory serves me correctly, this night was focused on The Village? (a movie that I greatly enjoyed, contrary to critical opinion). He also covered Unbreakable, Signs, and Lady in the Water in this same series. I found each message enlightening and encouraging. This night, with so much on my heart, I felt the Spirit speaking to me.

To be continued…


What you can learn from your younger self

What you can learn from your younger self

I’m attempting to make this one less wordy than my usual posts. I feel like that will be difficult considering the importance of the subject matter here. But here goes:

Today is my 27th birthday. I have officially entered my late 20s I guess. I used to dread this age, back when I feared getting older. I don’t fear that anymore. I also acknowledge that I am still very young and that there is much more to experience in this life.

I’m gonna write two posts on this theme: this one will be a short reflection, the other will be a memory, a most treasured story.

This afternoon, my mother and I went about town enjoying the simple things: a trip to Toys R Us (a place I still love, no matter how far away from the ‘90s the toys get), a trip to the library (where I checked out Hank the Cowdog on CD), and a walk around the park, enjoying the weather (wind and all) and the geese. When we got home, I watched a video that was taken at my senior chapel, May 14th, 2009. I was within two weeks of graduating high school, and in addition to playing guitar in the chapel band (where I was prominently displaying my decidedly non-Baptist style of boldly expressive guitar playing), I was also a speaker. I gave a short, off-the-cuff address to everyone assembled, the entire high school body. I spoke what the Spirit gave to me, reflections of grace and love, generosity in both. I stressed how important it is to wear these truths on your soul, to let them be a part of you, to avoid legalism. After about 3 to 4 minutes, I expressed my love for everyone and handed the mic off to one of my classmates.

Watching this footage again, footage from nearly 9 years ago, I was so amazed at my younger confidence and poise, dare I say wisdom. It has given me much to think about in how I will handle problems that I currently face in my late 20s. I endeavor to live up to that 18-year-old’s charge to be generous in grace and love. Who knew that the person that may have needed that message most that day was that same person a little further down the road?

God knew.

I’m learning from my younger self.

Be generous in Love and Grace, my friends.


Birthday memory post coming soon!!!

Night Enlightenment: Mockingbird Tears

Night Enlightenment: Mockingbird Tears

This one isn’t as detailed as the last, only because the details are fewer and I don’t remember the exact day. But this was a very special one.

As best I can remember, this night enlightenment took place in 2010, when I was 19-years-old. I believe it was the late spring. That night, I had been texting Siera, a young woman with whom I falling for head over feet. Every time we hung out, every communication we had, it was radiant to my soul. I don’t know if I was ever “in love” with her… maybe I was close.

Regardless, we were talking this night. I don’t remember if it were a weekend or weekday. I had probably just recently left my job at United and started work at Mullin, Hoard, & Brown LLP as a courier. I was making new friends at BSM, where I had become actively involved, as well as North, Trinity’s college ministry. Frontiers were wide open in my life. Everything seemed fresh and new and beautiful for the first time since graduating high school the year before.

That night, talking to Siera, my heart was alight. And over the past few weeks, I had been reading To Kill A Mockingbird, actually reading it. It was required reading in high school, but both times I had been in the situation where it was assigned to me, I had skimmed and skipped, gotten the main points and bluffed my way to coherent papers and passing quizzes.

But this time, I had actually decided that I would read the book, to see if it were all it seemed to be. I found the experience absolutely wonderful. With every page, To Kill A Mockingbird became a close friend, a wise teacher, a wonderful love in my heart, mind, and soul. This was truly magnificent. Though I was already a huge fan of the movie, I was overjoyed to find that the book contained all the best of the film plus more depth of character.

That night, laying on the couch, talking to Siera, fighting the urge and growing need to run to the bathroom and relieve myself, I turned to the last page of the book. Emotions bubbled up as the climax came, tears weren’t far below. Masterfully, Lee brought everything around, resolved it all. And Atticus would be there all night.

My only complaint of the book to this day is that Boo Radley killed Bob. Ewell  was a horrible person, but as I am adamantly against killing and violence, I wish that Lee would have come up with a different way of stopping Ewell’s attack that didn’t include Boo’s knife. It takes away some of my sympathy for Boo.

That notwithstanding, I was elated. The ending fresh in my lungs, I finally went to the bathroom and then told Siera of my triumph. Quite well-read, she had of course read the book before. We marveled at its greatness.

The other thing that sticks out for me that night is watching a documentary special about a man who had been obese and reclusive most of his life. The documentary chronicled his journey of losing weight and gaining confidence, his friendship with his trainer, and his journey to begin dating. It was actually a very inspiring and kind-hearted story. I soon drifted into a very peaceful sleep, fresh off some great literature.

Growing, young affection, discovery… God’s presence. Perfect peace.

Closer I am to Fine: Volume I

Closer I am to Fine: Volume I

Me and my running blog series. I think this makes 5. I still have to finish my story from senior trip, my Christmas story from 2007, my series on Fugazi’s Repeater, and my wonderful Summer 2016 posts. The nighttime enlightenment posts don’t have a set end date actually, because I can always add new experiences to those. But I digress. This is my blog, and so the rules are the ones that I make. I’m starting this series to cover some more recent memories on my road to recovery from anxiety and hypochondria. I’ve borrowed the title of this series from the wonderful Indigo Girls song, a song that is very important to my journey, in fact. More on that later, as it’s directly tied in to a wonderful night of overcoming my fear. But 1st, something brilliant from a rainy day.

Back in October, we had a couple of weeks of very cloudy, wet days. It was a generally soggy and melancholic kind of spell, and many here in Amarillo went without seeing the sun for a time. Surprisingly, I was actually quite blessed by this weather. In the past, consecutively cloudy days could often bring me down. This time though, it was the opposite. There was a profound buoyancy to my spirits during this time. I found a creative spark, some genuinely bright inspiration, and some wonderful fullness of joy and comfort with the clouded skies above.

I credit this creative inspiration and high spirit totally to God. I had discovered Alice in Chains around this time as well, and listening to their music with the backdrop of the cloudy and rainy was quite spectacular, giving the music an extra layer of depth, intuitive and intellectual.

My car was having some issues around this time. My driver’s side tire was wearing thin, and I was long overdue for an oil change. Though I was in a period of joyous creativity and high spirits, anxiety could be a factor in the afternoons and evening. I had to be careful about where I went and what I did in the later half of the day. I think in large part, I had convinced myself that I was weak, when in fact, I was still incredibly strong.

One afternoon during this rainy season, I had resolved that I was going to get my oil changed. I was feeling a little uneasy, feeling like if I left the house, a panic attack could crop up. I was tempted to stay home and stay calm in my creative bubble. But I made myself some tea, the new Sweet Dreams flavor that I had recently discovered. I drove up the road to the Meineke nearest my house, armed with a coupon for a discount oil change. I was feeling a bit weary, but resolved to overcome any trepidation. Something in this rain was courageous in my soul.

When I got to Meineke and got the oil change underway, something spectacular happened. I sat down with my tea and faced the west. The drizzle that had been coming down on the way up turned to a downpour. I put in my headphones and put on Cat Steven’s Teaser & the Firecat. His excellence combined with the heavy rain outside made for a quite spectacular combination, washing all my fears away and opening up new creative frontiers for one of my TV series. Suddenly, some elements came together for me to create a story arc, the most bizarre of which was a dream I had had earlier that week involving giant snakes inside a giant transparent pumpkin (oh, my wacky series).

I left inspired, I left in supreme peace. The tea had burned my tongue, but I didn’t care. I had found something wonderful. The brilliance of Christ had shone through my fears and lifted me up on this day. The rain had washed away the falsity of anxiety. I was sure of my identity.

I have much more to say about this day and this experience, but it’s getting late now and I wanna start winding down.

Peace is possible, fear is a liar, God is good, and ever faithful. I will overcome my fears, and I will stand victorious in Love. Every day, closer to fine.

Peace and Love to all. Amen and amen.

Night Enlightenment: Smallville and Such

Night Enlightenment: Post 1

So I’m starting these new posts called Night Enlightenment. They will be devoted to experiences that occurred during the nocturne, many of them life-informing and illuminating to my character and journey, brilliant spots of Heavenly Peace and Wisdom, memories that last with me to today and that I think back on often. A lot of this is brought on by the fact that I’ve been dealing with a bit of minor insomnia lately. It’s an alternating thing. Over the last week, I’ve had a rough night followed by a night of immensely wonderful sleep, followed by a rough night, followed by wonderful sleep, and so on. Tonight is a bit rough, so I’m channeling my energy into creativity and taking to the good ol blog. Let’s start this series by going back to July, 2006.

It was the 2nd, two days out from America’s most patriotic holiday. I was 15 that summer, scrawny and lively-haired, still in pretty great shape from an ill-fated but bodily beneficial stint I had done in off-season at the school I had attended for my freshman year. I had briefly entertained an absurd notion of playing football for a time. Dissuaded of this buffoonish notion by the summer, I was thankful for the physical benefits I had gained. But I was searching now, searching for a new avenue in life, for several, actually. Every day afforded these avenues in spades, replete with adventure of the usual but beautiful adolescent variety.

I had spent most of June watching James Bond films and enjoying the goodies brought by the Schwan’s truck. I would also spend lots of time in the tree in my backyard, climbing high and looking out upon the neighborhood and the highway further beyond. There was a world out there, replete with some wonderful potential.

I was still very much a kid seeking validation, seeking identity, someone to be, someone who people would want to befriend. After going through a really rough freshman year, this was my time of liberation. I was going to be going to a new school in the autumn, and this prospect brought both good and bad possibilities to mind.

My friend Tyler and I had gotten to talking about Superman (this was the summer that Superman Returns came out) and the topic of Smallville came about. He had seen some of the show and I was intrigued by the premise. I decided to check into it.

On July 2nd, I ventured to the Blockbuster up the road from my house and rented the 1st disc of the 1st season. It was a rainy day, if memory serves me correctly. That evening, I started watching the 1st episode. I enjoyed it, but I wasn’t hooked quite yet.

Then the magic happened.

As it was summertime, I had taken to a relaxed sleeping situation and was regularly camping out on the living room floor, sleeping bag and all. That night, I think I had gone to sleep around maybe 10:00 or 11? I woke up about 3 hours later. I was up, I wasn’t tired, I was in that wonderful summer mood that we all know in our youth.

Seeking to occupy my mind with something more than just laying on the sleeping bag, I decided to see what happened on the rest of the pilot episode of Smallville. This is when I got hooked. I proceeded to watch not only the pilot episode, but the 2nd and 3rd episodes as well, back to back, loving every minute of what I was discovering. This was a story about high school, about being different, about belonging and finding your power. I needed this. God knew that. I needed it that morning, and here it was.

It was nearing 5 AM when I started the 4th episode, the final one on the disc. My mother woke up around this time and we got to talking. I paused the episode and proceeded to join she and my father outside for some early morning coffee and conversation. My spirits honestly couldn’t have been higher. I insisted that they watch the show with me later that day. I eventually drifted back into some sleep, not sure for how long, but there was definitely a smile on my soul. It was Independence Day Eve, a great day to get the 2nd disc of Smallville from Blockbuster, since it was right up the road, after all 🙂

Peace and Love