Been Gone So Long
2006-07-07,

Sorry. I think I needed some time off from the self-reflection and the (self-perceived) droning of typing out my daily life. I did backdate a couple of incomplete entries, simply because I didn't want them to go to waste, so feel free to take a couple of steps back before tipping forward into my abyss.

All done? Good. Tip away.

I think I've petty much given up on the concept of Not Worrying. There's just too much to worry about. I think I'm better of focusing on minimizing my self-imposed worries so that I can save my energy for things that I have to deal with from external sources. Honestly, I think the presence of outlying worry has helped me to pare down my self-destructive tendencies, at least to some degree. Why I insist on pushing my own envelopes (and H's, consequently) is still beyond me. But then, why does anyone do anything that's not beneficial to one's self? I long for that state of inner peace and happiness that comes from being able to untie the knot in my stomach and just Be, but I can't seem to allow myself to get there.

Anyway, it's keeping me from writing anything, thus disappointing my loyal leaders, leaving them bereaved and wanting.

I would tell you about this last weekend, in which the lot of us went to Baltimore to see the People's new baby, which already weighs at five months almost as much as our nearly 20-month-old, and how we went to the beach in Annapolis to get stung by jellyfish in Chesapeake Bay, and that we explored Fort McHenry. I would tell you about how much, how fast our sweet, loud, demanding, beautiful and intelligent child seems to be growing, almost before our eyes. I would tell you how I got a flat tire at the end of our travel to Maryland, and a dead battery at the end of our road back. I would tell you that The Boy is finally gazing at the stars. I would tell you how much I worry about The Girl, yet at the same time marvel at her resilience. I would tell you how I find new ways to be in love with my wife, even if she drives me crazy sometimes.

But my mind is to unfocused to make any of it sound interesting, even to myself. It's not that I don't care; it's just that I can't make the words about it go at any length worth the bother. After six years (off and on), am I all done with journaling? Have I run out of words? I certainly hope not. I'm not going to pressure myself about it though (or at least I'm not going to admit that I am), because then it's just one more thing to worry about.

-- End Transmission --