I’m a rather resilient man. I pursue nearly endlessly what I desire and what I believe I deserve. Only when I feel that I have exhausted possible means do I stop and go back to my room and relish silence. I sulk less now. Pouting has gone too unbecoming to somebody my age. The fact that I am using this blog to broadcast what I feel at the moment is cringe-inducing. Finding solace in the most-often anonymous interactions here is very juvenile. But the height of my asininity is this thinking that this muddied language is an expression. I have not communicated anything, except maybe that my thoughts are in a dirty puddle now.