Letter to the Editor

We're are all but a series of imperfections, with the illusion of a complete being.

I've always known something was missing, something was wrong.  It is only now, later in life, I realize what the dream meant.  In my dream, I am holding onto something so tight, I'll never let go.  But when I look down, I'm holding nothing.

I've always been the oddball in my family.  I was always weird, always different.  It turns out my body is the same way my adolescence was, all over the place and never on time.  I am 23, with 24 peaking around the corner.  I am married to a man I never gave a chance to, until the time was wrong, the place was wrong, everything was wrong, but something about his eyes told me everything would be okay.  I am also infertile as the desert is dry.  Which brings me to why I'm writing jibberish into a blog I just created at 1:30 in the morning.

I've always been searching for a way to vent my feelings, and as I am now officially out of options and shoulders to cry on, this little Panda is making her way out onto the big, blogging world.