Following the most confusing, frustrating and often disheartening year of my life, I am returning to my art/s for solace and regeneration. For most of my life I have called myself an actor. For much of my adult life I have thought of myself as a writer. For the entirety of the last year I have known myself to be a jackass. So many bad decisions and slow realizations. In pursuit of comforts we didn’t need and “financial security” we wouldn’t get, I turned my back on creativity, donned a pleated pair of trousers and commenced dragging my unsuspecting family across the south and away from our near-perfect paradise in St. Augustine, Florida. Eleven months, thousands of miles and too many U-Haul rentals later, my eyes open and wounds licked, we have returned to Florida (Orlando, this time) and pledge to remain loyal to our home state as we venture to rebuild our lost Eden and the easy happiness our small family took for granted not a single revolution around the sun ago. As my household needs supporting and my job prevents me from flexing my theatrical muscles, I will workout my literary ligaments and rehab my heart and soul with the many words tumbling around in them. Thank you for reading these scribbles as I attempt to cultivate this craft, or at least my place in it. So here begins this… Diary of a Dipshit…? Journal of a Jackass…? Memoir of a Moron…? Yep, that’s the one.