When I was a kid, I had a diary. I wrote in it once and then never opened it again. I couldn’t get passed the idea of writing “Dear Diary” because I was 8 and I thought that in order to confess my thoughts I had to write “Dear Diary.”

I only mention it because today is my 200th observation. For 200 days this has been my online diary. This is my confessional booth.

Drunk, sober, tired, hungover I’ve managed to post every day because this is my one opportunity to examine and reflect on whatever is on my mind.

My thoughts, words, and ideas are not absolutes. No words ever are. So just because I write about it, it doesn’t always mean that I believe in it.

I believe in exploring my thoughts.

We all should explore.

The girl in my office doesn’t see it that way. She just thinks that I’m an asshole. Because I don’t like pregnant Hooter’s waitresses. I’m scared of babies. And I don’t like hanging out in Tranny bars.

To her it’s black and white. Squares have to go into squares. Words are absolutes. I’m not nice.

Sure, she’s entitled to her opinion. But I also know that late at night, she sneaks back into the office drunk and raids the fridge and eats other people’s food.

But who am I to judge.

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