Dear Candice,

Disclaimer: this is a complilation of just the tips of my sensations on overdrive. make sure your computer has a working cooling system and that youre feeling plenty empathetic to my clichés. Also, pardon the lack of apopstrophies... i have yet to master a spanish keyboard.

The Boeing 1640 hums quite a different tune when ascending, particularly when the passengers have mentally prepared for arrival. Like the hook of any great top 40, it lead astounding well into the string of indiscernable spanish swear words the foul mouthed middle aged woman seated next to me spit without hesitation. A nice pick up to surprise the crowd, we felt our organs push down against our lower intestine as we lifted again. Just as well im sure. I hardly feel ready to disembark into my utter lack of preparation. I switched on my music, eyeing the flight attendant to make sure i wasnt spotted, i had already felt the heat of his beedy glare. We recircled and i felt my the weight of my thoughts push back against their cranial cage, like ideas on a tilt-o-whirl. Hard they not been so tightly buckled, i assure you theyde still be recircling at a cruising altitude, passing on that heafty responsibility of adjustment, acceptance, and acknowledgement to my most instinctive of readtions. I gues the most rational, or maybe responsible, or all questions to ask for the time being would be WHY? Ah, but it seems so redundant, and yet exceptional, even phonetically speaking. The wh rolling its eyes at me, as if i didnt know it was everso cliché to begin with. A cliché so typical it needs no voicing but i decide to tattoo it on my tongue. And then the y lingering at the end, nervous and self-consciously shuffling its feet. Oh the burden that the y carries, but only sometimes. For such an occasional letter it sure has a lot to uphold. Why to too many circumstances, so ill start with the most immediate, as always, and hope to answer or rationalize at the very leasy the more more groundbreaking at a later date. Why chronical, journal, detail, explain, evade, or simply annote what im doing? is it more for now or maybe later? to fill the time (and abounding amounts of it mind you), give it some purpose, or give off some aparent purpose to tohers? Maybe its to empyt out the rogue words clogging the ancient brainage drainage so that the original issues clogging the system have a fight chance of surfacing and passing through. Have i ever stuck my toe into that enigmatic pool of so-called writing, the kind that drips ink on concrete after i take a dip into its fridgid waters? or do i just present myself as such? Im afraid im simply too afraid, because we are beings accustomed to the idea-editing culture. When your utensil is topped with a cap instead of eraser, well, what comes out? at this point, nothing truly significant. But im sure it requires practice, as all challenging sports do, so i desperately scribble, quite cognizant of the chance that only the first 10th or this book will be filled, and the contents are just as precarious. But in the spirit of all good intentions, new years resolutions, or intellectual epiphanies, i write, and commit, and i title it Day 1.