It could be an interesting use of time. dictionary.com suggests words to consider using. In fact dictionary.com has a word of the day every day. Don’t quote me on this, but you can also see previous “word of day” words. Pretty neat to me. I used to get phone notifications, the daily alert to see what the word of the day happens to be. Dictionary.com was interacting with me a lot so I silenced ole girl.

Read a lot. Use a dictionary, or an online dictionary. Google can usually help.

The more I read the more I remember words I’d forgotten. I have a decent command of the English language.

Words are fun. They are what make up sentences. Stories, articles- they begin with a string of words. The end of the story is another sentence that showcases words coming together to make music.

I also love dialect. Only certain dialects use the word ain’t, or, y’all. Shoot the breeze, chew the fat, a come to Jesus chat. I give only several examples to show this is indeed dialect. Socioeconomics can influence dialect, ethnicity, regions of the country. Any person regardless of skin color or financial security can become a cowboy. A person can be a cowboy anywhere on Earth, as well. For the most part farmers know other farmers. Sometimes it’s a generational thing. Been speaking a certain way since great-great grandfather moved to America how many decades ago.

You’ll find I love dialect so much that I enjoy myself to the maximum- I speak in different dialects.

This is weird, bizarre behavior for some. Others don’t seem to mind at all. I bet some don’t even realize I jump around with dialects when I speak.

If you grew up in a wealthy or poor or middle class neighborhood, you might have a specific dialect. Depending on your environment, dialect becomes a natural way of expressing a meaningful characteristic to the individual. It in some ways can define a person. I tend to speak one way when I chat with my dad, and a completely different way when I speak with my mom. Same goes for my friends, extended family, and people I’m meeting for the first time. My dialect, how I sound, the words I use to express myself while feeling good in my own skin, define me in some ways to those I’m conversing with. People might think I’m from the South. Other people might think I’m from California. I can do a midwest dialect pretty well. East Coast accents and dialect aren’t often seen. Sometimes though, if I pick up on an East Coast accent and/or dialect.

ACCENT is the word I left out. I speak in different accents as well.

To me it’s fun. Maybe I think the other person can better relate, connect, be open if I sound similar, and say similar words or phrases. I have no idea why I do that to be honest. It’s something I do. It’s not meant to make people feel deceived or belittled. I’m not fleecing anything from others except their time.

Time is valuable. If I can add extra value when me and whoever talk I will make my moves.

In a way I am acting. I know I don’t really sound the way I speak at times. Don’t say certain words and phrases when I’m being myself. However… I barely remember who I was before I started messing around with dialect and accents. I would rehearse my best Nebraskan accent and dialect my mom always uses, before I would visit my mom. I would stand in front of a mirror. I would talk to myself like I was talking to someone else. Specifically my mom. I even fluctuate with what words I emphasize.

In another way, it probably has something to do with the mood disorder, being an intense case of borderline personality disorder. Instead of taking myself to place of punishment, regret, self-loathing feelings- I instead think it’s pretty funny. Funny because I’m having fun. Also I admire myself for being able to portray accents and dialects with more than decent accuracy. I may sometimes come across as a true Southern gentleman. I might come across like a gun slinger cowboy. I might come across as so many different things.

When I listen to myself and I can sense I’m overthinking, I really turn to laughter. I make light of myself. I don’t see myself in a serious way, or at least I don’t in moments I feel foolish, or crazy.

When my inner crazy want to motherfucking party and let loose I do whatever I can to laugh. Smiling is also really amazing. Even if no one sees me smile, I still feel amazing. I can sit alone and laugh to myself and Santo in my bed without anyone else around to witness the humor bones taking control of my attitude.

In fact humor might be one of those genres that doesn’t require a friend. I’ve watched many movies by myself, many of which were comedies. Not once in my life can I remember thinking the comedies I watched would’ve been better with a friend. I of course enjoy watching movies with friends or family. Even going to the movie theater is kinda it’s own neat experience.

I’ve been doing alright, when I think about past me. Future me needs present me. I also think the more I make my health and well-being the top priority in my life the less I’ll fret over being alone.

Maybe some day I live with a woman I call my soul mate. I do know for sure I ain’t about to rush out and propose marriage to the next woman that I get along with. I even have an idea of who I might be able to live with, again- maybe so. Really I refuse to keep an abundance of hope in imagining myself with someone from real life. I also for sure know I would rather keep the friendship alive with this person than ruin everything and she runs away never to return. I’m doing everything I can, to make sure I stay friends with this lady until the day one of us dies. Even then she’ll still always be my friend. In spirit. She’s often my friend in spirit. I don’t dote on her, but I do imagine her more than a handful of times during certain days. Not so much what we might do together. I imagine her reading a book. Having a glass of wine. She’s usually alone too, when I imagine her. I sometimes imagine I’m able to see her doing alright by herself. I think this, and imagine seeing her being more or less good to go, so that I can believe she’s doing okay. And if she can manage to do life okay, that inspires me to do life okay too.

Maybe the final point of stuff I claim I know is that this particular woman friend wants to see me be happy as often as possible. I want the same for her in her life. I don’t know a whole lot about this person, the stories, the life experiences she’s had.

Even without knowing much about her past, her current life, or what she hopes for when she sees the future… I still love her. It’s strange, because it’s the most all encompassing love I’ve felt when loving someone in a long time. It felt amazing to say it. I’ve told her as much, I think a couple different times. And I laugh because worst case is she’s kinda laughing too. Not in a bad way, more so laughing at how intense I can be sometimes.

Anyway, I want to continue to write because she’s also a reader. She enjoys the stuff I write that doesn’t involve insane-o babble. Every time I engage with her on social media I feel this electric surge. Whenever she speaks to me I feel more alive than I have for a long, long time.

I’m like Will Ferrell’s Ron Burgindy, “I just wanna shout her name from the top of a mountain, and I don’t care who hears me!”

Still won’t say her name in this post. The ambiguity does so much more for me, the audience, and her.

My one hope is to continue onward with the posts, the books, and the stories, and this is how I feel I can give her an appreciation gift. In fact as many gifts I can give this woman possible is what I’m going for.

I know it’s kinda extreme, more than a little intense, oh so awkward.

She doesn’t have to buy any of the books. I’ll probably offer her a copy on the house when I publish my current work in progress. Although I’ll wait, be patient for more than enough time, so that I can pretend I’m not madly in love with her. And, you know, I’m madly in love with her as a friend. She is a friend I dearly love.

Just her voice on the page. She somehow does something magical when she talks to me. It’s electric love I can sense.

I don’t have delusions, thank you very much. I play out tons of make-believe fantasies in my imagination. Funny enough, I don’t imagine anything sexual, and I mean that for anyone I come across, not just this mystery woman.

If she were to leave today, I’m ready. If for some reason she leaves I know I’ll see her again in the next thing that comes after this life as a human being. I can’t prove some version of life, of being, exists after we die in this life. I was never out to prove anything to anyone. I know it’s true. My knowing is all that matters. Even if she doesn’t know, that’s okay- I’ll probably have to remember her in the next life, before we connect. It’s worth it. It always is.

I want her to watch me grow as a writer, to evolve as a storyteller. As someone who she is friends with. I love how she’s kind to as many people as possible. She’s always a friend to her friends, when she is able to be.

If she doesn’t say much to me for awhile, again-perfect time for me to practice patience. To be patient. She has a life of her own to live, and I must constantly remember she’s busier than my imagination thinks she is. She empathizes with all, she celebrates with all, she is there for all the people she does call friend. I don’t know about you all, but I haven’t seen too many women, or men, who are this way in today’s world.

I’d bet she feels anger now and then, feels sad, feels whatever not positive feelings we all feel from time to time. Only she knows what kind of stuff she imagines to help her process the negative energy, and move on. IN FACT she doesn’t express anything negative as she exists in an online presence. I know a guy who reminds me a lot of this lady. We’re friends, he’s also someone who is a dear, close friend, in my world.

By the way, if you read this and you think, “is he talking about me?” You know who I mean. It’s you silly, hehe, but let’s keep the ambiguous nature of what I’ve said in this particular post. I mean, I hope you’re good with playing this off as a mystery to one another. I didn’t even write this to you, it was about you, because I’m for you. I just wanted to make sure I got it out on the page.

I had to my friends. And, I love you all the same way as I love her. I do love unconditionally, however- it’s a practical art I’m still mastering. I sometimes slip and say really dumb stuff. In the moments where I act like a fool, or an asshole, all of you, as we are friends, please- just ignore me when I’m this way.

If I’m having a bad trip and I tweet some stupid, mean, messed up stuff, the best thing to do for the both of us, for our friendship- is to simply dismiss it. Don’t try to converse with me when I’m in a bad mood. Don’t try to tell me how messed up I’m being.

I am the only person who can solve me. Only I can tame my inner banshees. They thirst for blood, they crave violence, they get fired up at the chance of war. I have different demons within, that are all a collective unit I call my ego. My ego tries many different ways to win. The more I know about each demon within, I will better extinguish the flames building inside before they spew out of my mind and onto a page.

I’m writing comedy right now, in fact it’s satire. Not in this post you goofs. I mean in a word document on my computer that no one else sees. People won’t see my comedy I’m working on, until it’s complete, and ready to publish.

Also, to the woman I madly love. I’m not here to impress you with words. I’m not here to make you “mine”. Because what we have as it is, for me, actually is enough.

My mom always told me to “just be friends with these girls”. To treat women the way I treat my dude friends. Find common interests, discuss stuff we both have passion for. Be brutally honest to a friend who needs to hear he’s on a downward spiral, to be aware that things will get worse if he doesn’t stop being destructive. I give my friends a ride to and from work, when I’m able to. I give the friend who needs help, help.

I cannot save a life. I don’t know how to remove suffering from myself or others. I do know that I’m rocking my sobriety from alcohol. I can write so much more, write better when I write for longer, and I refuse to leave a twenty-four time period empty. I will write everyday. It’s my comfortable misery. It’s miserable because I may never strike gold with what I write. However I don’t care about striking it big. I’m not even looking for gold. Not that concerned with how to make more gold than already exists in my bank account. Turns out I’m set for the next fifteen to twenty years. This statement made to me by one of my aunt’s was a game changer in my knowledge of life and death. I thought I’d squirreled away a lot less, turns out- there’s still a solid amount left for me to cruise onward without having to worry when I’m four, five years old than I am now.

I don’t say that to make you feel less than, or jealous of what I have. I hope you don’t resent me for this. In fact I hope you are happy for me. Happy that I can spend all my time and efforts in growing as a writer. I see now I will be more happy to pump out fiction stories. I’m hyped to write at least one lengthy post on here each and every new day I’m alive.

I can focus on being as amazing of a friend to all like the lady I care deeply for and about. I don’t have to worry anymore.

Yes, I will die, a time in the future will come, and I will be dead. I’m also glad to do my part and remain sober from alcohol. Smoke weed as infrequently as possible, I mean… puff some thc clouds only ever so often.

Continue to eat healthy meals and snacks that I simultaneously enjoy consuming.

Continue to love on the dogs that care about me through their loving disposition.

Maybe I’ll go for a walk now.

See ya.