I was born. I went to school. I dove. I loved in Pendleton. I graduated. I loved in Fort Wayne. I excelled in college. I loved in Atlanta. I excelled in collage again, and I excelled in collage again. I taught. I left. I lived in London. I loved in London. I returned to the land of my birth.
Believe it or not, psychologically speaking, I had to come back here to heal. I knew there was no way I could be of service to anyone until I got my own mess straightened out for good.
I lived with my parents. After nine months of depression, I went to CA to visit some transgendered friends I met through the internet. While there, I started freelancing for a New York photographer, and shortly after returning home, I made enough money to get my own place downtown (but still with no vehicle).
A couple of freelance jobs later, my reputation got me what I thought was a serious job with a serious startup, but I got fired after they met me. Bigots.
Now I'm considering pulling up stake and heading for Vegas!
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