Current location:	Halfway Out The Door
Current mood:	drained
Current music:	MiNa - Living In Between

Tuesday AM

I don't get it.

Nearly every day I think to myself that I really need to start writing here again, and nearly every day I find some reason to not do so.



Part of it is that I am busy, as in really-really busy. In the early years having kids is pretty easy, but in time they start having homework assignments, and they become harder to discipline, and it just takes time and energy. But that's not entirely true, because they take up alot of time when they are little, too. It's just different, I guess, and I find I'm more tired from it all now. Well, maybe that's because I'm older, too, and that I lack my youthful vigor and vim. Eh, who am I kidding? I never had any of that.

Part of it is that I tend to be a creature of habit, and whenever anything has become a habit for me I find I am able to do it much more easily. When I was in the habit of writing alot, it was as natural for me to write as it is to get up in the morning and do my toilette. Indeed, I couldn't *not* write, and the words seemed to flow out of me like blood from a wound, or water from a spring, depending on the day, and which metaphor I chose. Conversely, when I've not written for a while, it just becomes harder and harder to find the inspiration, or perspiration, I need to write.

Part of it is that there are times when I just lose my voice, as it were, and become mute. I simply feel like I have nothing to say, or worse, that I'm overflowing with things to say but that those things would be found loathsome or boring if I gave them expression, so I just keep them all to myself, or write them in personal journals, and don't let it out, or anyone in. And more, there are times when I feel utterly bleak, and I can't imagine that anyone wants to read about my struggles to stay away from The Dark Place, and it all ends up the same: I just don't write.

Part of it is that I have lately gotten into the whole Social Networking thing, signed up with about a half-dozen sites, all of which are interactive in a way that blogging is not. And sometimes I'll put alot of energy into that, but it's all light and very little heat, and just like the blogging, I don't get the impression anyone there is much interested in what I have to say, either. It's all about pithy little Twitter-like busts of photonic energy, never really saying anything of consequence, perhaps like a Seurat painting in that it has meaning in the aggregate, but up-close there's very little there.

And in all this I keep coming back to the blog, I suppose because it offers the narcissist in me a platform - no matter how illusory - where I can write down my thoughts, shake my rattle, do a little rain-dance, and imagine that someone reads. So I guess I'm just saying that I'm really trying, and I'll keep trying, and thanks for reading.

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