The real first snow of the season

I have so many words inside of me, struggling to get out, but I am unsure of how to let them.  Sometimes I am filled with the urge to record everything, every thought and word and feeling.  Other times, I feel that life is better lived than written down, that to record what is happening diminishes it.  I guess I just want to talk to someone, anyone, tell them all about everything that is in my head right now.  But I am tired and alone in my room, and so will probably just go to sleep soon.

See you in a few minutes, ol' buddy.