It’s only my long-standing rule forbidding me to edit my journal that keeps me from tearing out the last page. I choose not to acknowledge the desperation that I’ve felt this summer. I prefer to ignore the loneliness and craziness that I’ve dealt with for months now. My inability to fall in love– my exasperation and frustration with my daily life. The emptiness I’ve struggled with. I want to throw my head back and take a slug of whiskey and laugh through the bad times. I simply cannot give credence to fear.