far too much writing, far too many photos

It could argued that of late I’ve been abusing the [this entry in progress] tags sometimes seen at the end of this page’s entries, notations that generally indicate, er, an entry in progress. It’s a useful, fairly elastic term, ‘in progress,’ an expression that could likely be applied to just about everything in this earthly life, at least up until the usually fatal points of death and disintegration. Could also be that everything remains in progress post d&d, on planes that transcend the three-dimensional. Could be, but let’s not wander off in that direction right now. I’m just not up for that kind of intellectual masturbation rigor at this moment.

It hasn’t been intentional abuse. I’ve simply been overtaken by life in various ways during the last, er… (pauses to count… runs out of fingers, pulls off socks, rapidly runs out of toes… goes to flat across hall, hammers on door to see if further extremities can be rounded up there, but neighbor is either out or lying doggo) …well, a while now. There’s been a lot going on, all kinds of things, much of it positive in that I’m alive in the middle of it all, all my senses functioning, my enjoyment of life generally intact, my little existence packed with adventures and more blessings than I could count (given the limited number of body parts at my disposal).

I’m involved in a lot of heavy thinking about this life of mine, feeling a strong urge to make some serious changes. One or two shifts in direction have already commenced, others may follow — time will tell. Among the subjects on the table is this journal and what I’ve done with it up to now. For all the writing posted here during the last nearly 3-1/2 years, the product is often highly selective — I don’t simply pull a psychological cork and allow blather re: all levels of my existence to come pouring out. On the contrary, some fairly important areas remain completely private. I’m wondering if I want to continue that.

The irony: in earlier years of this life, I was far more prone to sharing just about anything about me and my history that came to mind. In some ways, that was a method of using what I had — me, what I’d experienced — as artistic fodder. In other aspects, it was a manner of simply giving myself away too easily, indicating a belief that I needed to be ready to do whatever was necessary to make an impression. Kind of a sad, desperate conviction that my simple self — sans great torrents of entertaining info and exaggerated behaviors — would be nowhere near sufficient to attract interest.

Man, has that changed.

And that right there, that change — a simple, compact word that, in this case, covers an extensive part of my personal map — is an example of a major part of my story that I’m not currently prepared to dig into here.

Maybe with time. Or maybe not. We’ll see.

There is one story I could get into, I suppose. A fairly juicy story, now that I think about it, concerning an intense six-month relationship I had with a woman, a wild half-year that just about

[this entry in progress]

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