It's funny how insomnia has a way of hauling faded memories up from the cellar of the mind, unearthing buried bits of nostalgia from deep within and spreading the broken, jagged pieces out in front of you like a display of junk at a garage sale. It makes you feel cheap and guilty when you didn't do a thing in the world to kindle the dull burn in your veins or the sting in your eyes. Some nights the painful past unexpectedly pushes up through the floorboards like an ugly nightmarish weed, and by doing so, cultivates and nurtures an entirely new species of headache.

Today I fell asleep reading a book. The book is called INSOMNIA. I win.

He: "Whale you be my valentine?" She: "Dolphinitely.

I'm a very introverted guy, so I don't need to be around people for as long as someone who's very extroverted to get that sort of social fix per se.

Wars--and what is war except crime on a mass scale?--destroy rather than produce. The vandal that destroys a window causes not only the owner to bear the costs of replacing it, but costs those whom he planned on using that money to buy from. The same goes for wars. The warlords--of war and peace--destroyed so much, not only what existed, but all those new things that could have existed, if only individuals were left in peace.

I really do like surprises. I'm not so talented at planning things out or having schedules before or sticking to the plan per se, but yeah I'm very much a spontaneous guy and it's sort of hard for me to multi-task and to have all these things going on at once.

You’ve got mountains of your own, I’ll bet on it. Take heart. Be encouraged. Remain steadfast. Hang on for dear life. You’ve got a better grip than you realize.