I know it has been a while since I last wrote in this thing. I guess I've been struggling to write recently, beyond the normal struggles that I normally face (yes, sheer laziness and general apathy for those who need everything spelled out).

My birthday has come and passed again. I'm twenty nine now. To be honest, I'm a little disappointed with twenty eight. I didn't get laid nearly as much as I thought I would (not by lack of effort). The bartending thing just kind of blew up in my face and the writing has been pretty stagnant. So far, not a good qualities to be describing a year. But if I could take away from anything from this last year of my life, I guess it's a sudden appreciation and realization of who I am. In a sense, when I almost lost a sense of who I am and my voice in my writing while I languished between job to job, I found in the stillness of trees through a window of a bus, shuttling me through the mist covered mountains of Korea that I could hear it again, as witty and self deprecating as ever.

So why haven't I been writing? I blame Kevin mostly for introducing me to this game called Resistance 2. The co-operative aspect of the game is phenomenal. For those who don't have it, I highly suggest purchasing it. Beyond that, I think I've been muddling over a mild winter inspired depression. I hate the winter. In its crystalline whiteness I feel like hibernating. (well, my version of hibernating, which involves a ps3 controller and a twitching dog at my side)

I went out on the night of my birthday to a bar in Dupont Circle. I went with little expectations for the night. My opinion of birthdays has always been one of mixed feelings. You feel like shit when no one remembers. And then you feel too embarrassed when too many people make a big deal out of it. When I realized that more than one person asked me what I was doing for my birthday, I probably should make plans (had it been only one person, I would have probably ignored my birthday and bought myself an ice cream cake). I made last minutes plans, not really expecting anyone to really come. But come they did. Really, I have friends. (And on a more infantile perspective, I cannot write the word 'come' anymore without cracking a smile. If you need an explanation why, you don't watch enough porn).

Being surrounded by friends on Saturday made me realizes something. Maybe like those hours spent on the bus in the mountains of Korea, I caught a glimpse of the person I am again, not the one that has shut himself behind locked doors for the past several months. Big surprise. Your friends remind you of who you are. Friends and copious amounts of alcohol. (Vodka and cranberries are the devil).

I have always known that I live well under my "potential." But being around my friends that night, I saw how much of life that I have been missing. The smiles and laughter, the stories told, the memories shared.

So I've started again on the arduous process of change. I'm running again. Writing again. Planning things past my next meal. Where this will take me, I don't know, but it feels good to be moving again.