I’ve been blogging (mostly about toys and collecting) for over a decade, and sharing my inane thoughts, sheltered life, often harsh reviews and ever-so-alien experiences online for much longer than that. So when I realized that I wanted to write a book—to recount my life’s essence so that it might not be lost for future generations (and for another purpose that we’ll get to someday soon)—you might think that I’d have known immediately the most natural way for myself to do so.

But no. For whatever reason, I spent months contemplating the proper way to approach this subject; the appropriate and mundane method of how a portrait of an individual may be presented. I looked at the humdrum standards, at the commonplace examples, at the successful models, of what others have done before.

But that’s a problem—because that’s not me. My thoughts are all over the place; a million competing with each other at any give time. To make this tale of my life organized. Would be to tell a lie. And I really do not like lying.

To capture my experiences in words authentically—to capture my very soul—the story needs to play out from dozens of directions at once, with moments and topics weaving themselves in and out of the narrative (if you can call it that) in the same lacking-coherency fashion as thoughts jump to and fro in my mind.

And so, rather than commit the dishonest sin that is organization, I’ve decided to tell The Truth in the only way I think *I* can: as a daily, year-long blog that will break down the significant events, views and experiences that have shaped and defined my atypical life.

Follow along as best you can. Or if you cannot, don’t. Jump around. Skim the topics that look interesting to you. Use the search bar to look for your favorite swear words (which I will make a conscious point to include, as they do not come to me naturally). Click on tags of subjects that catch your attention. Come back and binge entries in a few weeks’ time. Or read none of it at all.

One way or another, at the end of this 365 days, I will have recreated as much of my life and my experiences as I can in disjointed, stream-of-consciousness, written form. For the benefit of whom? I cannot say. Maybe everyone; maybe no one. It’s not for me to decide what meaning others may derive from the life I’ve lived. Perhaps there is some value to be learned. And perhaps there is none at all.

But nonetheless, I will write.