Sometimes I wish I'd made this blog (more) private and/or anonymous. One of the reasons posts have been so infrequent is that I can't write about the things that matter most to me. I cannot describe the things that are happening, the thoughts flitting through my mind, the fears and hopes and anxiety and happiness and sadness.
In some ways this is a good thing. One of the reasons not to draft such posts is that I know they can (and most likely will) come back to bite me. In these days of ubiquitous internet access and search engine savvy, less is more. Presence, yes, but tempered with self consciousness and self control. The younger netizens will and are learning this lesson, but too often only after it is injurious. Sometimes I like to think I know better.
In some ways this is a bad thing. No ranting and raving. No fists raised against the sky, shouting in the storm amidst the tempest. No solicitations or sharing. Just silence punctuated by the occasional sigh with no further explanation or context. There is a distinct absence of truth and soul and that I truly regret.
In some ways this is frustrating. Frustration on top of frustration. If I cannot write about that which is of primary importance to me, most other words seem pale and wan in comparison. Better to say nothing than something feeble and half-hearted?
Sometimes, someways, somewhere, somewhen.