I'm so ready for this year to be over. How about you?
But I don't see that 2012 is going to be any better. I hope I'm wrong.
I don't want to deal with any more death, financial woes, depression, and job loss. I've had enough. The world has had enough. It's going to get worse before it gets better....isn't that always the way of things though? So in the immortal words of Margo Channing, "Fasten your seatbelts....it's going to be a bumpy night."
I've been reposting some writes from my old Myspace blog. I kinda regret deleting it so rashly, but then, I was so pissed off at all the changes they made it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I backed it all up to Word so I still have all the posts, just not online, which is why I'll be reposting some to this blog as a sort of archive. I'm trying to get back into writing mode after dropping off the face of the planet for the last few months. Starting in September with the death of my dog, then one bad thing after another seemed to happen to me with no letting up. I had nothing good to write about and I was too depressed to even share what was going on in my life. Yeah, I'm so over 2011.
So on to 2012, may you be a brighter, more hopeful year for me and everyone on the planet.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
The Mirrors Of Our Life
Another repost from 2009.
The Mirrors Of Our Life
A troubled man went to a carnival and saw a fortune teller in her tent.
She said, "That which you seek is not far away. All you must do is find the reflection within you, and remember that we need never be ashamed of our tears."
He left confused, and pondered her words as he stepped into the funhouse.
Children and adults all around him were laughing at their images in the wavy mirrors, seeing their realities distorted.
Upon stepping up to the first mirror, the man didn't see his distorted reflection, but saw a child of 10 staring back at him.
The child had red welts around his neck, and his eyes were wary and haunted. The man recognized himself with a shock as he stared back.
He stepped to the next mirror and again saw a child, a child of 13 with the vacant but giddy expression of one who has just discovered the joys of illicit drugs. Behind the eyes lurked a truth that belied the grin. He hesitated before going on to the next mirror, for he was afraid.
He next saw a young man of 18, belligerence and agression stamped all over his face as he leered out of the mirror. The man stared at the angry eyes of his younger reflection and saw that same truth behind them, present though more disguised. He didn't want to go on but now felt compelled to learn more about that truth.
He walked on and now saw himself at 25, dismayed but not surprised to see the festering sores of track marks lining his arms and dead eyes looking back at him. The man could feel the anguish and despair coming from his younger self, and could feel the truth still simmering there even through all the layers of denial.
The next mirror showed a man of 32, for all appearances on the outside a man who has it all together and is happy; but the eyes never lie...and the man could see how feeble his attempts had been at trying to convince the world he was recovered from his past self-destruction. He could also feel that other truth hovering near the surface, waiting for the right time to make its presence known.
The man walked on to the next mirror, expecting to see himself as he is now but he was met with blankness; absolutely nothing was reflected. He was dismayed....why would the mirror not show him anything? He was desperate for the mirror to reveal the truth; he had been so close.
He closed his eyes and the fortune teller's words came back to him.
"That which you seek is not far away. All you must do is find the reflection within you, and remember that we need never be ashamed of our tears."
He thought about what he had just seen in the mirrors, all of those moments of his life captured in time. He realized he already knew the truth, had known it all along. All of those moments in time going back to childhood flashed through his mind; his eyes opened with a snap. The truth, at last. Tears flooded down his face, and he was not ashamed.
He looked back at the mirror and was shocked to now see a reflection; not of him in the present, but a vision of a slightly older man. The older man was smiling...not a fake smile but a truly joyous one. Tears stood out on his face too, tears of knowledge of what trials the younger man had yet to endure; but also knowing he would come through them all the stronger.....to peace.
The Mirrors Of Our Life
A troubled man went to a carnival and saw a fortune teller in her tent.
She said, "That which you seek is not far away. All you must do is find the reflection within you, and remember that we need never be ashamed of our tears."
He left confused, and pondered her words as he stepped into the funhouse.
Children and adults all around him were laughing at their images in the wavy mirrors, seeing their realities distorted.
Upon stepping up to the first mirror, the man didn't see his distorted reflection, but saw a child of 10 staring back at him.
The child had red welts around his neck, and his eyes were wary and haunted. The man recognized himself with a shock as he stared back.
He stepped to the next mirror and again saw a child, a child of 13 with the vacant but giddy expression of one who has just discovered the joys of illicit drugs. Behind the eyes lurked a truth that belied the grin. He hesitated before going on to the next mirror, for he was afraid.
He next saw a young man of 18, belligerence and agression stamped all over his face as he leered out of the mirror. The man stared at the angry eyes of his younger reflection and saw that same truth behind them, present though more disguised. He didn't want to go on but now felt compelled to learn more about that truth.
He walked on and now saw himself at 25, dismayed but not surprised to see the festering sores of track marks lining his arms and dead eyes looking back at him. The man could feel the anguish and despair coming from his younger self, and could feel the truth still simmering there even through all the layers of denial.
The next mirror showed a man of 32, for all appearances on the outside a man who has it all together and is happy; but the eyes never lie...and the man could see how feeble his attempts had been at trying to convince the world he was recovered from his past self-destruction. He could also feel that other truth hovering near the surface, waiting for the right time to make its presence known.
The man walked on to the next mirror, expecting to see himself as he is now but he was met with blankness; absolutely nothing was reflected. He was dismayed....why would the mirror not show him anything? He was desperate for the mirror to reveal the truth; he had been so close.
He closed his eyes and the fortune teller's words came back to him.
"That which you seek is not far away. All you must do is find the reflection within you, and remember that we need never be ashamed of our tears."
He thought about what he had just seen in the mirrors, all of those moments of his life captured in time. He realized he already knew the truth, had known it all along. All of those moments in time going back to childhood flashed through his mind; his eyes opened with a snap. The truth, at last. Tears flooded down his face, and he was not ashamed.
He looked back at the mirror and was shocked to now see a reflection; not of him in the present, but a vision of a slightly older man. The older man was smiling...not a fake smile but a truly joyous one. Tears stood out on his face too, tears of knowledge of what trials the younger man had yet to endure; but also knowing he would come through them all the stronger.....to peace.
Hands
This is a repost from my old Myspace blog in 2009.
He looked down at his hands
hands that had done so many things
Held beetles and frogs in his youth
and made snow forts in the trees
Hands that flew to his face in oft-learned reflex
to protect him from his father's rages
and wiped tears from his eyes in the aftermath
Hands that yearned for a comforting touch
but instead learned comfort at the plunge of a needle
with blood on his hands, robbing and cheating others
to feed the demon
Shaking, clammy hands when the needle betrayed him
and taught him the meaning of mortality
and humility
Hands holding on for dear life
as his world crashed and changed around him
forcing him kicking and screaming into living
Fingers that came alive in an unexpected way
once a keyboard was under them
and his mind was free to express itself
without repurcussion
Hands that still shake sometimes,
longing to hold that needle and
feel the plunge
Hands that search to do something meaningful
to keep those old demons at bay
and give his life purpose
He looked down at his hands
hands that had done so many things
And wondered what they were
going to do next
He looked down at his hands
hands that had done so many things
Held beetles and frogs in his youth
and made snow forts in the trees
Hands that flew to his face in oft-learned reflex
to protect him from his father's rages
and wiped tears from his eyes in the aftermath
Hands that yearned for a comforting touch
but instead learned comfort at the plunge of a needle
with blood on his hands, robbing and cheating others
to feed the demon
Shaking, clammy hands when the needle betrayed him
and taught him the meaning of mortality
and humility
Hands holding on for dear life
as his world crashed and changed around him
forcing him kicking and screaming into living
Fingers that came alive in an unexpected way
once a keyboard was under them
and his mind was free to express itself
without repurcussion
Hands that still shake sometimes,
longing to hold that needle and
feel the plunge
Hands that search to do something meaningful
to keep those old demons at bay
and give his life purpose
He looked down at his hands
hands that had done so many things
And wondered what they were
going to do next
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Judgement GBE 19
Last week Jamey Rodemeyer, 14, committed suicide after suffering being bullied for years. His tormentors bullied him for his sexual orientation.
Earlier this year, he made this video as part of the It Gets Better project after coming out as bisexual.
Unfortunately, the bullying became too much to take and he ended his life on his terms.
When are we going to grow up? When are people going to accept that being gay or bi isn't a choice, but the way people are born? When are people going to accept that being gay or bi isn't the result of a moral failing, a mental disorder, or a deviant perversion? When are people going to stop judging others based on their sexual orientation?
I have little hope that it will happen in my lifetime. Last week's official end of Don't Ask, Don't Tell in the U.S. military was a huge step forward, at least I thought. Until it became clear from the jeering of a gay U.S. soldier during the most recent Republican debate in Florida, just how many people still have this archaic idea of what it means to be gay. Rick Santorum responded that he would repeal DADA, that he feels sex has no place in the military.
Well, yea, sexual intercourse has no place in the military. But would he go so far as to prohibit heterosexuals from talking about their wives or girlfriends? Putting their photos on their desk or beside their bed? Talking about their kids? Talking about loved ones with their coworkers?
I hightly doubt it....yet this is the kind of double standard that homosexuals put up with everyday. The fact that there have always been gays in the military seems to escape peoples' memory, yet read the online comments following any article about the end of DADA and one would think there are none, and we must keep them out before all hell breaks loose! Give. Me. A. Fucking. Break.
It's this kind of judgement, discrimination, and outright bigotry that our children have to face every day. Can you imagine being a gay, bi, or transgendered child, knowing you are different, but not daring to acknowledge it? Feeling like you have no where, or no one, to turn to to talk about it, knowing that this difference is perceived of as wrong by everyone around you. Most kids go to great lengths to hide it, to deny it, because this feeling of wrongness is so indoctrinated into our culture that even kids as young as five years old can sense it. Yet their heterosexual counterparts know no such feelings of wrongness about their existence. They don't go about their day trying to hide their core selves, for fear of retaliation. They don't even think about their sexuality.....it just is.
Wouldn't it be great to see a day when all children, no matter their orientation, can just view their sexuality as just is and not question it, not feel shame about it, and not fear what others will do to them over it? A day when a child doesn't have to go to school full of dread and shame, knowing the taunts and abuse that will take place before the end of the day? All based on the way that person was born. I really hope I live to see that day.
Lady Gaga, at a recent concert, paid tribute to Jamey. Mid-song, she pauses and states, "Bullying is for losers."
Indeed.
This is for GBE week 19, "Judgement"
Earlier this year, he made this video as part of the It Gets Better project after coming out as bisexual.
Unfortunately, the bullying became too much to take and he ended his life on his terms.
When are we going to grow up? When are people going to accept that being gay or bi isn't a choice, but the way people are born? When are people going to accept that being gay or bi isn't the result of a moral failing, a mental disorder, or a deviant perversion? When are people going to stop judging others based on their sexual orientation?
I have little hope that it will happen in my lifetime. Last week's official end of Don't Ask, Don't Tell in the U.S. military was a huge step forward, at least I thought. Until it became clear from the jeering of a gay U.S. soldier during the most recent Republican debate in Florida, just how many people still have this archaic idea of what it means to be gay. Rick Santorum responded that he would repeal DADA, that he feels sex has no place in the military.
Well, yea, sexual intercourse has no place in the military. But would he go so far as to prohibit heterosexuals from talking about their wives or girlfriends? Putting their photos on their desk or beside their bed? Talking about their kids? Talking about loved ones with their coworkers?
I hightly doubt it....yet this is the kind of double standard that homosexuals put up with everyday. The fact that there have always been gays in the military seems to escape peoples' memory, yet read the online comments following any article about the end of DADA and one would think there are none, and we must keep them out before all hell breaks loose! Give. Me. A. Fucking. Break.
It's this kind of judgement, discrimination, and outright bigotry that our children have to face every day. Can you imagine being a gay, bi, or transgendered child, knowing you are different, but not daring to acknowledge it? Feeling like you have no where, or no one, to turn to to talk about it, knowing that this difference is perceived of as wrong by everyone around you. Most kids go to great lengths to hide it, to deny it, because this feeling of wrongness is so indoctrinated into our culture that even kids as young as five years old can sense it. Yet their heterosexual counterparts know no such feelings of wrongness about their existence. They don't go about their day trying to hide their core selves, for fear of retaliation. They don't even think about their sexuality.....it just is.
Wouldn't it be great to see a day when all children, no matter their orientation, can just view their sexuality as just is and not question it, not feel shame about it, and not fear what others will do to them over it? A day when a child doesn't have to go to school full of dread and shame, knowing the taunts and abuse that will take place before the end of the day? All based on the way that person was born. I really hope I live to see that day.
Lady Gaga, at a recent concert, paid tribute to Jamey. Mid-song, she pauses and states, "Bullying is for losers."
Indeed.
This is for GBE week 19, "Judgement"
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
One Year Ago GBE 17
This week's topic for GBE is confounding me.
Do I go literal and talk about where I was a year ago? Not in a good place, but I'm not much better now so do I keep beating that dead horse?
Poem? Nah, would just be dark and cryptic anyway. Fiction? Eh, haven't written any fiction since almost.....a year ago! There we go. A re-post!
But a re-post....isn't that lame? Admitting that you can't come up with anything new and original?
Eh, fuck it. Deal with my re-post.
Ok, it's stretching the "one year ago" topic a wee bit cos I posted this on October 28, 2010 on my old [now deleted] Myspace blog but it's close enough. It's almost Fall, and the store I work at already has Halloween decorations up. But it literally was the last piece of fiction I tried to write so, without further ado.....
A Spooky Graveyard, originally posted for BFF (Blogging For Fun)
An eerie mist spread over the cemetary as the shadows of the trees lengthened in the twilight. All was quiet except for the muffled footsteps of the last visitors, walking quickly back to their cars before it got too dark to see. All except one.
The man had come earlier that afternoon, laid down in front of his late love's grave, coat bundled under his head as a pillow, and proceeded to talk to her as if she were right beside him. He chatted about the comings and goings of his life, what he'd had for lunch that day and how the waiter had been rude. After the mundane topics were covered he poured his heart out to her about how much he missed her, how unhappy his life was and how he didn't know how he was going to continue this way. Tears streamed down his face and fell onto the dry leaves underneath him.
"If only I could join you, wherever you are," he whispered, "I'd be content." With that thought, he closed his eyes and dreamed of her face.
He awoke with a start a few hours later, noting that he was laying in complete darkness, the only light coming from the moon shining through the mist. He couldn't believe he'd fallen asleep in a cemetary....and he was sure the sound that had woken him up was something to be wary of.
He sat up and cautiously looked around. Were the gates locked, would he even be able to get out? He supposed he could scale the fence if it came down to it....or maybe there's a night watchman somewhere around. As he was contemplating his situation, he heard the sound again....a groaning, shuffleing was coming right from underneath him.
An absurd thought of a mole trying to get out passed his mind and he nervously chuckled....for surely it's a mole. Or some other burrowing critter. Yes, of course, it must be, for the alternative was impossible. He refused to allow his mind to dwell on the alternative....better not let the old imagination start running wild!
But the sounds kept coming, more clear and more frequently. His fight or flight response was starting to kick in and his mind was screaming at him to get the hell out of here, now! But he sat rooted to the spot, paralyzed with fear, and with a stubborn need to prove to himself that it really was a mole and that he was just being silly. Surely he'd be laughing about this with his friends down the pub once it was over. Just sit here and wait, there's nothing to fear!
But now he heard another noise, like footsteps walking towards him. He looked up and saw a figure cloaked in black, a hood obscuring its face. It stopped right in front of the man and stood looking down at him, his breath coming in soft hisses. It spoke, and the man felt a stab of menacing fear go through his heart.
"I heard your request, and have come to grant it," the figure intoned in a voice that sounded as if its throat was filled with gravel.
The man sat staring, dumbfounded, for stuff like this doesn't happen in real life, only in cheap horror films! What the hell is going on here? Just then he not only heard, but felt something move underneath him. He started in fright and tried to roll off to the side but as he moved something punched out of the ground and held tight to his forearm....his late love's decayed hand showed blue in the moonlight.
The man screamed and screamed until he felt he would drown in the sound as the hand pulled him down toward the gaping hole that was becoming larger by the second. He felt as if his heart would burst out of his chest as he tried to wrench his arm out of the deadly grasp; he saw the black figure point at him in condemnation and as he did so a bright light came flying towards his face. "Noooooo!" the man screamed, violently fighting to be free.....
He came to and realized that the night watchman was standing over him, shaking his arm trying to get him to wake up, his flashlight pointed at the man's face. "Come along now mate, t'place closed hours ago. Ye got t'leave now, shhh, stop shouting! Ye like t'wake the dead if ye keep carryin on like that, come on now...."
The man sat up and looked at the ground; no hole. No decayed hand. He looked around; no cloaked black figure. His sleep-terrified mind was racing to catch up; he stared at the night watchman, confusion written all over his face. "There's a lad now, ye've jus' had a wee drop too many I reckon, get up and le's get ye on yer way....say mate, you alrigh'?" The watchman looked down at the man's white face with concern.
"Yeah....I think so," he said. "It must have just been a dream," he added under his breath. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart and slowly stood up. He followed the night watchman through the winding paths towards the front gate, which the watchman unlocked for him. "Take care mate, no 'arms been done, ye get along 'ome now," the watchman said kindly.
The man had come earlier that afternoon, laid down in front of his late love's grave, coat bundled under his head as a pillow, and proceeded to talk to her as if she were right beside him. He chatted about the comings and goings of his life, what he'd had for lunch that day and how the waiter had been rude. After the mundane topics were covered he poured his heart out to her about how much he missed her, how unhappy his life was and how he didn't know how he was going to continue this way. Tears streamed down his face and fell onto the dry leaves underneath him.
"If only I could join you, wherever you are," he whispered, "I'd be content." With that thought, he closed his eyes and dreamed of her face.
He awoke with a start a few hours later, noting that he was laying in complete darkness, the only light coming from the moon shining through the mist. He couldn't believe he'd fallen asleep in a cemetary....and he was sure the sound that had woken him up was something to be wary of.
He sat up and cautiously looked around. Were the gates locked, would he even be able to get out? He supposed he could scale the fence if it came down to it....or maybe there's a night watchman somewhere around. As he was contemplating his situation, he heard the sound again....a groaning, shuffleing was coming right from underneath him.
An absurd thought of a mole trying to get out passed his mind and he nervously chuckled....for surely it's a mole. Or some other burrowing critter. Yes, of course, it must be, for the alternative was impossible. He refused to allow his mind to dwell on the alternative....better not let the old imagination start running wild!
But the sounds kept coming, more clear and more frequently. His fight or flight response was starting to kick in and his mind was screaming at him to get the hell out of here, now! But he sat rooted to the spot, paralyzed with fear, and with a stubborn need to prove to himself that it really was a mole and that he was just being silly. Surely he'd be laughing about this with his friends down the pub once it was over. Just sit here and wait, there's nothing to fear!
But now he heard another noise, like footsteps walking towards him. He looked up and saw a figure cloaked in black, a hood obscuring its face. It stopped right in front of the man and stood looking down at him, his breath coming in soft hisses. It spoke, and the man felt a stab of menacing fear go through his heart.
"I heard your request, and have come to grant it," the figure intoned in a voice that sounded as if its throat was filled with gravel.
The man sat staring, dumbfounded, for stuff like this doesn't happen in real life, only in cheap horror films! What the hell is going on here? Just then he not only heard, but felt something move underneath him. He started in fright and tried to roll off to the side but as he moved something punched out of the ground and held tight to his forearm....his late love's decayed hand showed blue in the moonlight.
The man screamed and screamed until he felt he would drown in the sound as the hand pulled him down toward the gaping hole that was becoming larger by the second. He felt as if his heart would burst out of his chest as he tried to wrench his arm out of the deadly grasp; he saw the black figure point at him in condemnation and as he did so a bright light came flying towards his face. "Noooooo!" the man screamed, violently fighting to be free.....
He came to and realized that the night watchman was standing over him, shaking his arm trying to get him to wake up, his flashlight pointed at the man's face. "Come along now mate, t'place closed hours ago. Ye got t'leave now, shhh, stop shouting! Ye like t'wake the dead if ye keep carryin on like that, come on now...."
The man sat up and looked at the ground; no hole. No decayed hand. He looked around; no cloaked black figure. His sleep-terrified mind was racing to catch up; he stared at the night watchman, confusion written all over his face. "There's a lad now, ye've jus' had a wee drop too many I reckon, get up and le's get ye on yer way....say mate, you alrigh'?" The watchman looked down at the man's white face with concern.
"Yeah....I think so," he said. "It must have just been a dream," he added under his breath. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart and slowly stood up. He followed the night watchman through the winding paths towards the front gate, which the watchman unlocked for him. "Take care mate, no 'arms been done, ye get along 'ome now," the watchman said kindly.
The man thanked him, and went through the gate. Instinct made him turn round and look back towards the spot where he had lain.....he could just make out the faint outline of a figure cloaked in black, looking back at him.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Vapor Trails
Vapor Trails
Driving across the Nebraska prairie
on this most introspective day,
September 11, 2011, I saw
vapor trails
criss-crossing the sky,
jets destined for locations
far, far away from here.
I thought back to that
most tragic day,
September 11, 2001 and remembered the lack of
vapor trails
in the sky as all
civilian flights were grounded,
people stranded from their destinations
far, far from where they were.
Somehow it startled me to see them,
as if the planes themselves were
disregarding the reverence
of this day. Or maybe the travelers
themselves were to blame for
daring to travel and
not remember. But then I
realized that not to travel, not to blaze those
vapor trails
would be the worst offense.
We will never forget,
but we will never surrender, either.
Copyright Steven Clark 2011
.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Liebster Award
Well blow me down and call me Charlie, I've been given a blogging award.
Not just by one person, but by two....on the same day. Unreal.
Thank you to Jo from My Wandering Mind.
And thank you also to humor after 50 at Views of an Optimist. Sorry luv, I don't know your first name yet. ;)
This award is given to bloggers who have less than 200 followers, and is a way to help them spread the word that their blog exists and encourage readership. Recipients must then do the following:
1. Thank the person who gave it to you and link back to their blog. Done and done.
2. Give the award to 5 different bloggers and leave them a comment letting them know they've received it.
I thus pass on the Liebster Award to the following cool people:
1. Sue at sassyspeaks
2. Michelle at LIVing With Intention
3. Lydney at mojowritin'
4. Kim at Things That Cross My Mind (you seriously got to get back to blogging, my friend)
5. Paige at peacegirl place (you too)
Copy and paste the above award logo to your blog, if you wish. BTW, Liebster means favorite in German.
I'm humbled by this because my blogging has been so sporadic. I haven't been successful at getting back into a consistent writing pattern. After blogging for 2 consistent years at Myspace, it all kind of fell apart after the Myspace blogging community imploded and I've struggled to find my footing here.
I could blame it on the fact that my life for the past year and a half has been hellish, but even when I was really struggling during the Myspace years I still wrote about it. Maybe that's it....the support net I had there isn't here anymore. Perhaps people got tired of reading me. When I started blogging I only did it as a form of therapy for myself, as I struggled through the quagmire of life. I tried to be honest about what I was going through even if it seemed I wasn't progressing at all. I still try to be honest, and after all this time it probably doesn't seem I've improved my life one bit. One step forward seems to be followed by four steps backwards. I'm actually worse off now than I was when I started blogging in 2008. Some progress. But I keep plodding on for some reason.
I also never intended to be known as a writer. It really came as a surprise to me to learn that I had a knack for it, but beyond that I just didn't think about it. When I began trying my hand at creative writing, it was just something fun to do once in a while to break out of the monotony. I'm really, really flattered that people seem to think I'm a good writer.
So, a big thanks to those of you who are still around, and thank you to those of you who are new readers. I really appreciate your support.
Not just by one person, but by two....on the same day. Unreal.
Thank you to Jo from My Wandering Mind.
And thank you also to humor after 50 at Views of an Optimist. Sorry luv, I don't know your first name yet. ;)
This award is given to bloggers who have less than 200 followers, and is a way to help them spread the word that their blog exists and encourage readership. Recipients must then do the following:
1. Thank the person who gave it to you and link back to their blog. Done and done.
2. Give the award to 5 different bloggers and leave them a comment letting them know they've received it.
I thus pass on the Liebster Award to the following cool people:
1. Sue at sassyspeaks
2. Michelle at LIVing With Intention
3. Lydney at mojowritin'
4. Kim at Things That Cross My Mind (you seriously got to get back to blogging, my friend)
5. Paige at peacegirl place (you too)
Copy and paste the above award logo to your blog, if you wish. BTW, Liebster means favorite in German.
I'm humbled by this because my blogging has been so sporadic. I haven't been successful at getting back into a consistent writing pattern. After blogging for 2 consistent years at Myspace, it all kind of fell apart after the Myspace blogging community imploded and I've struggled to find my footing here.
I could blame it on the fact that my life for the past year and a half has been hellish, but even when I was really struggling during the Myspace years I still wrote about it. Maybe that's it....the support net I had there isn't here anymore. Perhaps people got tired of reading me. When I started blogging I only did it as a form of therapy for myself, as I struggled through the quagmire of life. I tried to be honest about what I was going through even if it seemed I wasn't progressing at all. I still try to be honest, and after all this time it probably doesn't seem I've improved my life one bit. One step forward seems to be followed by four steps backwards. I'm actually worse off now than I was when I started blogging in 2008. Some progress. But I keep plodding on for some reason.
I also never intended to be known as a writer. It really came as a surprise to me to learn that I had a knack for it, but beyond that I just didn't think about it. When I began trying my hand at creative writing, it was just something fun to do once in a while to break out of the monotony. I'm really, really flattered that people seem to think I'm a good writer.
So, a big thanks to those of you who are still around, and thank you to those of you who are new readers. I really appreciate your support.
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