Nativity

This is for me, this blog. It's cathartic, writing whatever I want, in a sort of perpetual email to myself.
I need a rebirth, a change of scenery, something new and wonderful. You get out of life what you put into it--I know it, but so far I've concerned myself with filler.
Whatever will be will be, sang Doris Day. Am I fatalistic? No. I know there's a fork, and the only way to tell which way to turn is by following my inner compass.
I wish for:
genuine connection
mental windex (clarity)
love of all kinds (I have the most unique blessing/curse of sometimes being unable to separate or distinguish types of love--romantic love, the deepest friendship--love is love and when I look into someone's eye's and feel no need to talk, do the size and blood flow of sexual organs matter? Not at all.
It's self-pitying to think "I don't possibly deserve more," and lazy to think I can't earn that "more" for myself.

The soul selects her own society, then shuts the door.