The Real Thing

I am so uninspired by my own recent trivial blog posts.
Hence the dearth of entries.

After reading K's recent blog posts, I am excruciatingly aware that there are more valuable things to express, or ways to express them, than I've even come anywhere near lately. I mean, it's like - I'm here, and the things that warrant my honest time and attention are somewhere on the far side of Alpha Centauri. Little blinking specs of light sending out Morse code to say, "this is what matters, this is what counts."

And even though Blogger's digital storage space is cheap (what is cheaper than free?), it doesn't mean I should continue to squander the chance to explore - semi-publicly, and for my own later reference - what I'm doing on this chunk of rock and why, and instead make everything a "had tea with the Smith's" log. It just feels too much like a waste.

I recycle the paper wrappers around sticks of gum. I hate waste.

I self-edit a lot before scribbling in this blog. I try to keep it honest and kind. I am aware that some of the people who might read my entries do so just to stay caught up in my life, and I really appreciate that. I've felt like there's no need to be deep - just thorough and pleasant. And yet, so much has happened (like always, nothing & everything) that I haven't recorded anyway, I feel like I've failed even that simple mission.

But here. I'm dropping the "not living up to my potential" baggage at this station with a "please look after this bear" note.

WHATever. Letting it go, sir....
Whew. That feels better already.

Apologies in advance to those who are not interested in what Mr. Archer might call "philosophical musings," but I'm headed more in that direction again, (re)stretching my writerly wings. The relatives who read to see what the kids are up to, the co-workers who read out of an (inexplicable) interest in the day-to-day workings of my life - forgive me if I start to wax wordy and eclectic.

I had a friend in college who described another friend's highly Latinate writing as "gratuitously polysyllabic." Yeah. That's what I'm talking about.

Maybe it's just a mood. I hope not. Maybe it's me adjusting the poet cap on my head so it sits at a jaunty angle. Hey, whatever works. I've had it with trivial.

I had a dream last night that someone was reading new poems I'd written, comparing them to other, more recent work. The newer stuff was, we both agreed, better. Raw, rough, but real.

Here's to that sentiment.

(With great thanks to K and the other phenomenal bloggers I link to on this site, for inspiring me with the quality of their prose, the depth of their thinking, and the strength of their character. Diolch yn fawr.)

Hitting the Road

...Off to Las Vegas for a 4-day business trip, after the traditional up-all-night compulsive laundry folding. Because of course, that's somehow more important than packing...

I'm hoping to blog while away from home. After all, what else would I do in Vegas?