Surviving the first week of 2005 wasn't too hard... although there are changes afoot in my world that I'm not quite sure I'm ready to handle. Changes in management's direction and directives have everyone uneasy. I may be asked to make a choice in who I answer to - the department I provide support to as a service, or the group who placed me with the department. I'll work it out - I always manage to land on my feet, cat-like as always. As always, my piddly-assed problems pale in comparison to the grand scheme of things - a friend of ours has a wife who is either slipping into dementia in her early sixties or her breast cancer has metastasized and she has a brain tumor. Neither sounds like good news to me. And as if I needed a larger reminder of my global insignificance, the tsunami disaster serves its purpose remarkably well. I can't comprehend the devastation involved, the suffering, the sickness, the hunger, the pain. It overwhelms me. So I do the only thing I can do - pray, and count my many blessings.
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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