I have been asked to write about my life. This is not the first time you've asked me to do this, dear reader.

I've been told that all actions are motivated either by fear or love. Well, I'm afraid to write to you with my true thoughts and feelings.

I'm afraid that I won't have anything worth saying, much less worth reading. These days, I don't even know if the events of my life affect me; no matter what happens, it seems, I still feel the same. Sometimes I am happy and hopeful. Sometimes I am overwelmed with despair. But mostly I feel nothing at all. I wonder, in fact, if my mind, tired from years of yearning to feel everything as fully and as authentically as possible, has not made a concious choice to even its keel at a time when it would otherwise lose control of itself?

And it scares me that if I reveal myself here, you will read it. And I fear that when me meet in realspace you will know The Truth about me, that I won't be able to sheild myself with social mores. This fear is somewhat bizzare; I'm not shy and I don't have anything to hide from you, after all. Yet I hide myself.

So I hide behind movies and music, pop culture and politics. Things that, unlike my private heart, I can order and I can understand. Things on which I can form an opinion. And indeed, the original idea behind my website, before it became my Blog was not to record my life but to observe the artifacts of a life inundated with media.

Perhaps I should consider the reality of my life as just another medium: the events of my day another movie, my heart's desire another song.