One life lived in perfect harmony with its surroundings; one person in accordance with their environment. A perfectly reasonable goal thwarted at every turn by internal upheaval.

Oh, were it so, I exclaim. To lay all problems upon the table for all to see, and in doing so, absolve oneself of blame.

Consider this instead, I say. Keep all problems at your own peril. Only then will one be forced to confront, contain, and overcome. Work things through as you go.

Attention all: no longer shall I burden you with what ails me! No longer shall I proclaim bold stances, shout ill thought solutions, or type wary claims of clarity for all to see...

No… from now on, I will fill these pages with the fiction of my life, not the bare, hard, sad truth. Look to me no longer for soulful reflections, thoughtful dissertations, or peculiar confessions. The man known as Rob will no longer be an open book; nay, fine reader. “Closed indefinitely,” says the sign o’er my heart, for I’ve locked the door, with the key safely inside. I now declare myself repressed, and better for it.

“Hello, my name is Rob, and I masturbate… and this is the hand that I masturbate with.”

-Rob