There's so much I want to say, but unfortunately, it suits itself only in journal. The blog has become too popular, too many people read it. Too many people would read about themselves. The loves, the addictions, the close encounters. So I leave my musings to my journal. You will continue to receive the anecdotes, the sermons, and even still some of the saddness. But not the rest.
The rest will go in the journal.
Or in the letters mailed overseas or stuck in boxes, scrapbooks and trashcans.
I haven't actually scrapbooked in months. There is no album for 2005. Not one damn picture glued to a page. Not one sticker or ticket stub. No complementary colors, no cute labels. No scrapbook for 2005.
For four nights I've come home with the intention to get it out, to scrap.
But I can't. I do the dishes instead. I play nintendo. I read. I pretend to write. I snuggle with the cats.
Part of the problem is I feel confined; stuck behind a door that must remain shut to keep the dog away from the cats, and it symbolizes how I feel tucked away between a rock and a hard place trying to get out. Wishing for spiderman, or supernatural strength, or even a bulldozer to get me out of this place, away from these dreams, out of these decisions.
And part of me just hasn't figured out how to put the pictures together yet.
My life is so great. I work. I date. I teach. I eat. I pay bills. I listen to people's stories. I buy shoes. I exist.
But I do other things too. I pop pills. I avoid conflict. I compare myself to others. And don't even get me started on my committment issues.
And sure enough, this blog's become too personal already. Funny, I haven't even touched on my love life yet(or lack thereof). But I'm not complaining about that...I'm scared. Committment issues, remember?
So the bad dreams and the fears and the wonder and the speculation will be saved for the journal, or maybe for the book I'll write someday.
But not today. Today you get a blog about nothing. And I get a journal full of something I don't understand.