February, oh February.

It was an odd month. Simple derelict changes forced my body through torturous transitions: togetherness, otherness, vulnerability, awakening, age... And still the sense of a month's passing deteriorated into a selfish absence of comprehensible time. As I always revert to the imperceptible fallacy of time, we shall avoid such conversations here. The misfit churning of February created such misshapen mishaps in my existence of thought that even I cannot place the course accurately enough. Heartache, mistrust, insecurity, willingness, and unwillingness, creation, destruction, revelation... February was a rebirth in many senses. Every day my words fall to the memory of a poem: "The Road goes ever on and on..."; and I know the trodden lanes of rediscovery have lain their sodden prints before my fingers. I am renewed.

Klein Bottle

The moment of absolution for myself happened the night of my birthday. Clouds found their tears frozen upon the earth: white, fluffed, delicate... I found myself in a room surrounded by revelers of my art, their ears tuned to the voice of Eula Biss. Stepping away from such magnificent advice, my world turned through a Klein bottle and I found my thoughts suddenly explaining to my heart why I needed to abandon my struggle through school for the ease and beauty of enjoyment. Without the passion forever pushing conscious efforts, the quality abandons work and diminishes both in a spiral decay of mental stability. Thus, the transient process decided a most important redirection, atop the already many new paths laid before me, toward abandonment of a secondary degree, 'til later days, and pure focus on my highest regarded passion, ambition, aspiration that exists for me: creative writing. This was the greatest of all the changes which found their way to my heart in February, though possibly the least influential of all.

February was an odd month which has passed. The decisions have passed and now actions must be taken in order to fulfill even the slightest of changes. So many actions are to be under foot. So many actions are leading me to the place where "many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say." But I shall not whither away from my passion, as always I do: affirmation stirs in my mind to commit to my writing and the infinite possibilities therein.