Allow Me To Reintroduce Myself, My Name is H-

-enning. Barfoed Fog. You might remember me. I used to post things to this blog. A lot of it was about movies, television, or time-wasting Internet videos. Some of it chronicled my various misadventures. All of it was written with an eye toward humor, my tongue firmly in cheek. It can be difficult, then, to keep up that kind of consistent tone when you sometimes don't feel that funny or happy.

"A man goes to the doctor. Says he's depressed. He says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. The doctor says 'the treatment is simple. The great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him, that should pick you up.' The man bursts into tears. He says 'but doctor... I am Pagliacci.'" - Watchmen

Not that I'm a) all that funny or b) all that depressed, just that from time to time I really don't feel like myself. Or I just plain don't like myself. I lose confidence, retreat to my room like Brian Wilson, and wind up playing Wii for what some might describe as "unhealthy amounts of time" (luckily binge-eating has yet to work its way onto the docket). When this happens, I tend to keep the experience to myself; remain in isolation until the skies have cleared. With no blog posts since last Wednesday, it will come as no surprise that this past week saw one of these self-esteem storms.

I'm realizing now, as I pick myself up, that while there's nothing wrong with feeling blue every once in a while, it's patently stupid to not seek out your friends when that feeling comes around. Friends are there to listen, to comfort, to remind you that life is good (it is). There is always someone there ready to help if you only seek them out. Sharing is caring.

With regard to this blog, I guess, it's important that I recognize not every day is going to be filled with roses and daffodils. Try as I may, I'm just not going to have that famous Fog mojo all the time. Like the tide, it ebbs and flows. I accept that. But regardless of mood or situation, I need to write. That much is clear. To aim always for an enjoyable read, but accepting the occasional misfire. To stop hiding behind a facade of togetherness (if it was even there to begin with), to embrace my shortcomings and admit things I might consider embarrassing or shameful.

I may have just lost ten regular readers with that last paragraph. To anyone still following, I promise that despite this proposed marriage between entertainment and Henning-ness, I'm not about to take a turn into LiveJournal town. I will never bore you with the daily minutiae of my life, never whine without reason, never unpack my garbage onto your browser. Watch The Hills for all that. I just want to bring you writing and news that's honest, filtered through the perspective of someone who's slowly figuring things out. A friend told me the other day that men's development is roughly four years behind women; that I'm less 22 than I am a fresh-faced 18 year-old-old. Handsome as I'll ever be, yeah, but naive. A work in progress. The blog's named "Lifting Fog" for a reason, after all - while I still can't see a significant chunk of the horizon, things are becoming clearer everyday. Visibility is improving.