I do not smoke. "If I don't inhale then it doesn't count," I keep telling people (the rare times that I do). I'm sitting here in my bedroom, closing my eyes ever so often in the dark and I could hear the noise of drunken laughter in the hot twilight air of some summers ago. I opened my eyes and the noises faded back into this darkened reality: this laptop-lit room. I close my eyes again and I could hear Timineri yell, "Exorcism!" as my hips gyrate and body convulses to the music on the balcony of Badlands. I could taste the Tanqueray and tonic stained on my lips as I light up a cigarette for a brief break. I step away from my group of friends, just slightly, but leaning up against the railing and looking down on the summer crowd. I take a puff from my cigarette then flicked it. I watched as the subtle, but ever so constant breeze scatters the countless speckles of ashes away from the light of the bar. I opened my eyes and my thoughts dissipate into the darkness of this room like the memories of my cigarette's ash. I drank too much caffeine today and I must go urinate. Perhaps that'll help me gather my thoughts.


Where was I? Ah, yes. "Define passion..." I was once asked. As this year retires to it's own space, getting ready to file it away to it's earned spot in history and soon be celebrated for it's ending; I'm looking back on all this madness and chaos hoping to maybe find some part of me. It'd been a tragically rough year. I've exhausted talking about my traumatic failed partnership that also apparently has inevitably not only affected, but altered the alignment of everything that was right in my life. Going through the second surgery of my cancer all alone in New Mexico and driving myself back to a couch that I convinced myself was "home" just to get through to another day. In the midst of all that, I've lost seven loved ones to death of one way or another. I can't begin to even remember the many times I've moved within the past year. The days and details of events seem to just blur together. I'm not sure if it's the result of getting older or perhaps I'm trying to remember things that just shouldn't matter.


Lordy, throughout all this, I've gained another best friend: Vasquez. I really don't know if I would've survived New Mexico without Vasquez and having the comfort in knowing my support system is still where I have left it. Not knowing at the time, something about that sparked my primal instinct and passion to survive.


I talk a lot about the things that I don't do anymore. I don't dance like I used to. I don't do much volunteer work anymore. The last charity event I participated in was New Mexico Gay Pride. The last book I read was months ago. I don't work out as hard as I used to. I haven't had the will to socialize like I once did. It seems I've lost self identity. I need to snap out of this! Yes, I've had a series of unfortunate events, but all these passion that defined who I am was never given to me, therefore was not free for anyone to take away. All this was a while year of wasted energy. A whole year of anger. A whole year of resentment. A whole year of regrets. But now, a moment of self discovery.


It's time that I regain control of my life. It's time that I restore a form of self identity. It's time that I find passion in the things that I was once passionate about. This upcoming year, will be a better year.