Perhaps I'm luckier than I think, or God smiles on me more often than He gets credit for. Either way, we still had heat this weekend - apparently our neighborhood is fed by a different line than the one which ruptured. This made for a much happier weekend. Friday night we went to a special meeting at BCC concerning some planned construction projects. Saturday we did laundry, took a nap, then went out for some quick shopping, followed by a trip to Green Hills to see Phantom. Sunday we went to church, went shopping with Miranda, then came home, put up a new ceiling fan, and crashed. Not a bad weekend, all in all. I tried to keep my mind off work, but it's hard sometimes. I'm not good at making major decisions, and this one will no doubt determine which way my career goes from here. Right now I'm waiting for the storm clouds to clear so that I can see things a little clearer.
Here I stand again, speaking to an empty room. My thoughts aren't worth the cyberspace they would take up if I cared to tweet or post to Facebook, but here I stand anyway. I had no idea how long it had been since my muse had forced me to write. I used to write almost daily, poetry mostly, when I was younger and believed that someone cared what I had to say. I wanted to be e.e. cummings or T.S. Eliot or anyone who seemed to be so comfortable in his own skin to pour out his emotions onto a blank page. It took me a few years to realize that the writers who filled my pantheon of literary deities were not that comfortable after all, but wrote because not writing was more painful than the spilling of emotion. So I think I will take up my keyboard once more, wade out into the battle, and write.
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