Its never been a simple task for me to make friends. True. If you met me you'd be convinced otherwise because I tend to be a pretty transparent person -not shallow mind you, there's a difference. But when it comes to making really close friends, it just doesn't happen often. Maybe there's something about me that while being attractive is equally distasteful I don't know. Perhaps I try too hard. I know, maybe what I need to do is stop being so honest with people, you know, take up spectator football, learn all the stats and players names and learn to ride the waves a bit more. Maybe I need to put an end to all this writing and this penchant to record ideas. I don't know. I read Norman Vincent Peale's book, "How to Win Friends and Influence People" back in the 80s. It said that if you really want to impress people that you talk to them about the things that interest THEM -nevermind what you like, who you are, etc. Tell 'em what they wanna hear and they'll stick to ya like lukewarm grits dashed against a kitchen wall. To tell you the truth I find most people I am around terribly boring. Oh, there are a few souls that I get with on occasion and I walk away with a a feeling of azure skies and a hope that the world's not such a bad place to hang your hat afterall. It's not all that bad. Maybe all this is why I have a weakness for collecting books. My books are always there and waiting. They give me great pearls of wisdom and yet never question me, judge me or look the other way when I'm trying to say something that's important to me. They are there. Faulkner calls out to attend a funeral. O'Connor ends with a dark and apparently grace-less but actually grace-filled ending. Percy crawls inside my head with characters that think and feel. Dickinson makes me dizzy with metaphors that haunt me for days. They are all dead and yet they live. It's not so bad, right? All in all we still need skin. I like to call it the ministry of presence. There's a man who attends the church I go to that announced a few weeks ago that he is going to die. It came on unexpectedly. Just a cough that turned out to be a form of cancer that goes back to summer jobs working with asbestos. I don't know what to say when I am around people with a death sentence like that. I think I'll draw nigh, ask questions that no one dares ask, like "What does it feel like to know you're gonna die?" Maybe I can put some of this out here for a soul to read. My heart feels so heavy today. Sometimes things just don't work out the way you planned.