The Big R

I know.  I know.  One minute I am happily typing away about mountains and Swedish/British television and other nonsensical obsessions and the next I am rabidly tap-tap-taping away about spiraling into insanity.  What can I say?  This diseased brain of mine is a complicated maze which even I have immense difficulty navigating- and often.

I digress.  Sort of.

So, what happens when people move to Alaska, you ask?  Most of them see moose; sometimes they see bears.  All of them see mountains and clouds; fireweed and magpies.  They see beautiful things.  I see beautiful things here every day.  Every single day.  And I hold onto those beautiful things with a fervor not unlike obsession.  But... if you ask again...what happens when people move to Alaska? If they are this people, they relapse.  Relapse.  The Big R., the Bad R.  It's happening.  And my honesty, my uncompromising honesty, forces me to type these words as an apology.  As an admittance.  As an active bargain for help, patience, and kindness.

You see, my control over circumstances best not mentioned in a public blog has slipped.  And so my grip tightens elsewhere.  Specifically in one already troubling "elsewhere" of my existence.  This would be the afore-metioned Big Bad R.

So please.  Feel my love for you all even though I am troubled and tried.

Until next time.