Tonight I told the story of how i got here. The story I never tell. The story of how the military changed my life...and the questions it may raise for the rest of it. I told S and G, and G suggested, "you should totally write this down, it's a modern love story in the making". And I just remembered that I did. 4 years ago I wrote a short story about how I ended a love affair with a best friend...entitled "The Boy with the Colored Hair". I then went on to write a sequel entitled "Because My Boy Got Drunk". Which is really where my grand love story began. I'm thinking of jumping back into writing. It was, after all, a huge passion for so many years. Just as he was. And now as I type, the words pour from my fingers, and I think I may be on to something. Watching these people that know me so well melt under the words of my story made me realize that I do have more to offer than I omit, and that I often don't even remember I have in me. And if the casual reference of "I lived in Hawaii" spurns such a great reaction...then perhaps I AM on to something....and perhaps my freshman dream of peaking in college was not a premonition but an abolishment of what could be if I roll over and die and get sucked into the day to day of those that I already pushed astray.