I am not very comfortable with the past. I've tried to live my life without regrets, only to find nearly every turn filled with just that. Sometimes at night I lie awake constructing a time machine of the mind, going back and righting all the wrongs I'm committed. When I get senile, I imagine that I will spend all my time at the nursing home a weepy emotional wreck, forever repentant over all the bad things I did. But for now, I keep the past at bay behind a veil of foggy memories. Tonight, the past caught up with me, and I was suprisingly comfortable with that. There were some things I was slightly disturbed about, that a lot of hard feelings were the result of simple innocent miscommunications. But then, I knew that I had hurt a lot of people's feelings during the 5 or so years I went into total reclusiveness. I found out that there's a big blog post with my name on it, and though I'm curious about that to no end, I think it's best I leave it in the past that I don't know about. But most importantly, I discovered out that the past doesn't have to be an end, that it can sometimes turn into the present. (Yeah, I don't know what the hell I'm talking about either. Two beers, two bars, one night ... I'm totally sloshed right now.)