On Writing...

Friday, November 27th, 7:30pm
Note: I wrote this yesterday evening, but at the time I just didn't want to post it. That happens from time to time. Anyway, on second blush it's not all that bad, so I'm posting now.

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...as I sit here and watch The Godfather Part III, for some reason I'm thinking about of all things writing, and blogs in particular. Maybe it's that this edition of The Godfather is my least favorite, or maybe it's because the blog I wrote this morning was so very, very tough to write that I'm still sore from trying to squeeze it out. Anyway, this is what's on my mind.

Why?
That's the first question that I ask myself about this whole blog thing. It's also the one word sentence that most frequently comes up in this blog. I think "Why?" is my favorite question. So, "Why?"? I don't have an easy answer to the question actually. I suspect...and that's the highest standard of proof I can muster at the moment..."suspect"...that the answer to why lies partially in this bizzaro introverted world that my brain resides in 24/7/365. By introverted I really do mean introverted. I scored a perfect introverted score on the MBTI test several times running. Clearly, I'm a man who is, shall we say, "wrapped tight". Writing, I suspect, provides me with this way to deal with the internal dialogue that constantly runs through my head at all times. It's the spillage if you will. I seem to need, on some level, the conversation that this blog represents.

Now a logical question to ask would be "well why don't you just talk to people more often?", and that would certainly be a reasonable thing to do. Part of the answer is that I'm simply not in a position, for various reasons, to really have much of a dialogue in my private life. That's not to say that there are not people who will listen, because there are; it's just that none of those people are physically close enough to listen when the stuff spills out. Thank God that they are there, because I would be a basket-case without them. I am truly blessed to have these friends, even if they are not physically close.

So?
Does all of this actually, really matter? I'd say yes: it matters to me. I think in my first blog entry here I noted that it doesn't matter to me if anyone else reads this, and that's as valid now as it was over a year ago. Want proof? It can be found in the stacks of paper I've written on all these years that sit in drawers, waiting to be discovered (by others) or shredded (by me). This is, in a very real, tangible way, part of how I process the world. I would do this no matter what.

By the way, the view statistics for this blog were stuck at 590 from about six months. For some bizarre reason they have started to count views again. I have no clue why.

What?
What of all of this? Holidays do make you think, and Thanksgiving is a good day for thinking, even if...like this morning...the thoughts are harder to pass than too much cheese in the diet. Call it lame, call it rambling, call it pathetic, but I call it me.