I look like the Titanic crashed in to the iceberg of my soul today.

On that note, Dear everyone on the planet who I owe an email,

I am really sorry. I am almost ready to admit defeat. I actually feel sick when I think about people thinking I’m too cool or ignoring them. I’m not too cool. I work at somebody's house in Green Hills, okay? I work in GREEN HILLS. The only thing that would make you feel bad for me about that statement would be if it ended with “and live in Antioch” or something. And I get that. Okay?

It usually goes like this: I open an email from someone either asking a really interesting question or saying something really profound that makes me want to keep doing what I do and then I’m like “Wow, this deserves a better response than whatever I can tap out on my iPhone” and so I put it off and by the time I’m back at my computer I’ve gotten new emails or found something shiny to look at or frankly, just really want the alone time and I don’t get to respond.

I owe people emails about friends' job offers, I owe people emails about a house I am selling, I owe people emails about my favorite color and I owe more thank you emails than anyone who has ever lived, probably.

I haven't had the effort to really talk about my life lately on here, and I'm not sure why. It might involve the 14 hour work days (and, omg, 60 hour work week), and also my very strong attempts at writing piano parts for all these songs Corrie and I have written.

So far I'm great at it, at least after those first few scary minutes of staring at that giant, harrowing row of keys. I told myself to dedicate at least an hour EVERY DAY to practice to get back into piano shape. That includes weekends. Lately, whenever I've dedicated an hour to anything it's trying to figure out what to do with all this belly button lint.

I mean, the possibilities, right? A scarf, maybe? A sculpture of cotton candy? Something I can sell on Etsy. If you have any extra lying around you can put it in a Ziplock bag and send it to me. We can split profits.