I wasnít expecting the emotion my first post released. In fact, feeling isnít something I am used to anymore. Streamlining my emotion has become an affective tool that I use to manage my life. I havenít cried in years, Iíve never been in a physical fight, and I am so closed off that people often walk away wondering just who the hell I am. Most of the time this is misinterpreted as reservation, making people nervous to speak freely around me. Or perhaps people can see the anxiety that consumes me at times.

I left my apartment last night in search of a friend and a drink; luckily I found multiples of each. While I was in transit to my destination I began to wonder if I would be able to perform my usual mantra, the one in which I play the insatiable partier who can convince anyone that their early morning plans arenít that important. I needed a drink before I could slip on this suit, so I found a dark bar before meeting my friend. Twenty dollars later I was on my way to the warm and welcoming person I can become, almost forgetting my online confession that I had posted just hours earlier.

Public journaling reminds of therapy in some ways. Both induce feeling and lots of horrible advice. I welcome the odd sensation of emotion at first, but I can never allow the pain to linger for to long. I cover my wounds once again because each time they are exposed only grow larger. Streamlining is a worthy solution.