Not for Creative Writing...

(The following is in the order of my thought process, and is an allusion to another journal, the original)
But for the greatest purpose to write, for self.
Now don't be confused.
This is not an act of selfishness, just an act of self-pity.
See, I find myself tonight at another crossroads, but not Beelze's crossroads, it's another one of mind.
I look in every direction.
Ahead of me is a path that is enjoyable yet extremely risky.
Behind me, I see treasure beyond belief, but I blew up the bridge to it.
To my left is the saddest, most destructive thing I've ever seen, that always tempts me, but I constantly refuse, or try to refuse rather.
And to my right there is the path of righteousness.
So I take the most unknown of the four.

I wonder where it will lead me.
Will it show me new views on old sights?
Will it answer my sleepless questions?
Will it lead me to happiness?
But most importantly, will I learn my lesson, or anything at that?

I hope, in succeeding in this epihony, that this helps me.
That it helps my kids.
That it helps my wife.

And yet, and yet I am simply a hope...

An Excerp From "Everything But Black and Red"

The will was written many years ago and was stored in a book that the father had written when he was younger (pre-lawyer, pre-child, post-first marriage). The book was hidden in the lawyer’s book shelves. The book was known as “Dumas’ Guide to Playing the Hardest, Most Sinful Game Ever Made; Poker.” His name was Sam U. Dumas and before he decided to start a real life with a family and an actual career, he was wild and in love. Her name was Delilah Connelly and they first met at a casino. She asked him what he was doing in the casino, “Business,” he replied. She asked him what he did for business, “Poker,” he answered. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the nearest table and showed how he worked. He made two million dollars and a woman to fall in love with him that night. With that money they spent the greatest night of their lives, all ending with a wedding.