If nothing else, my blog is 3 things: a not very subtle cry for help, a dabble into narcissism and a dash of masochism, and a history of me for my children and anyone else that loves me enough to know me. Being heard is life to me. Dramatic and true. That said, I struggle with not having anything relevant to say. Nothing important or deep or funny. Today is just normal.

When I go for long drives through Canada, like I did this weekend, I think about all the houses of people. People like me. I imagine or know that every house has a Karen, a Hot Fudge Sundae, a bunch of kids. There are people living their lives like me, thinking, crying, and laughing. About the same shit. I think it is so big and overwhelming, and it makes me realize that I am not even close to being the center. There are people trying to figure out why they are here and what to do next. I'm thinking about massaging people next. I need to help people in some way. I like giving so that people will like me. I'm trying to be funny, but it's probably true. Regardless, it's good to be the recipient of all that, right?

I had a happy Thanksgiving. I was at Niagra Falls looking at the power of God. That's how I see it. I am small in a huge place.