"And I guess that was your accomplice in the wood chipper..."

I recently heard of an old friend who was going through a tough time, and everyone seemed to know exactly why except for that person.

I'd like to think I'm more self aware than that, but I'm not. My problems are simple and not devastating by any means, and yet I walk myself into the same troubles again and again like a lab rat who hasn't yet figured out that, no, neither door one nor door two has cheese behind them. I face setbacks and turn to my friends, confused at how this new set of circumstances could have possibly cropped up, like William H. Macy's character in Fargo, shocked that his plan (which involved thousands of dollars and staging a kidnapping) isn't still completely on track.

I am certain that my friends want to smack me awake, to show me my own reality, just as I wish I could with this old friend of mine. Perhaps they know more about me than I know about myself. In fact, there's a good chance of that.

Life is easier to view from the glass above it. Living it is the messy part. I'm saying nothing profound.

I love you guys,
Charlie