Hi! Box here. I have time for one story tonight. I remember being on display after I was formed. I would sit on the shelf, waiting as they would come in a browse. All sorts of collectors, dreamers and buyers would visit the shop and gaze in wonder at the treasures. One day, the most amazing dreamer came in; a blond sprite, with earthly eyes and long slender fingers. I watched as she picked up first one, then another of my brothers. Well, you can certainly guess where this is going...she picked me! She was a woodland innocent, quietly hiding her secrets with me! Oh what a glorious time we had...sailing the seas, plumbing the depths of the forest parks, visiting the deep seas. Ah, in my age, I still remember, and I still rejoice at the thought of my woodland sprite...

Mentropy*

*Montropy: (n): 1. A neologism, derived from the unintended convergence of mental and entropy. 2. Scattered and increasingly disorganized thoughts and memories.

When I was in the 5th grade, I wanted desperately to learn how to play the trumpet. I think this desire came after seeing "Three Coins in a Fountain." One day, in a fit of frustration, I bent the bell of the trumpet. I felt so ashamed, that I never played the trumpet again. I still regret it.

In another fit of anger, I once signed a paper for school with my birth name. My dad saw it, but never said anything. I still very much regret hurting him.

I miss my dad.

I miss my father-in-law.

Why do I like the soundtracks for movies that headline Ellen Page?

I love the smell of a crisp autumn day. And my children. (I still enjoy smelling their hair)

I feel so helpless and lost most of the time, despite knowing what I have to do.

I hate betrayal.

I have amazing nieces. They are such different people, but both so wonderful.

Why is it I can see the glory of God in the bee, in the sunset and in the genome, but I can't see it at work in me?

Why am I fascinated by Wendingo Psychosis, Capgras, Cotard's and Fergoli's psychosis?

Hi! My name is..., well to simplify things, you can just call me "Box." OK then, blogging. Never thought I would actually be one of those "bloggers", but here I am filling cyberspace with stuff. Not really sure what I am supposed to say here...I guess I could tell you a little something about myself. I will try to make it sound good, this is my fifteen minutes afterall, but don't expect much. I am used to things being put in me or taken out of me, not really used to producing things. Anyway, here goes...

I was made some years ago, during the hippy years. I was put together with the upmost care and decorated with pride. Oh, how lovely I looked! And my lining, oh yes, my lining was the softest of velvet. You see, I was not created to be some cardboard throw-away, no, I was a keepsake, a treasure box, if you will. Made of the finest of woods, with a skilled craftsman forming my essence. When I was first put on display, hopes were high for what you might call my destiny...

Gotta go now blog, my hinges are aching and I need to rest. I will try to continue my story soon! G'night.