January 10, 2012

How Many Blogs Must A Man Write

Jimmy killed himself 11 years ago or maybe it was 12, I am not really sure. I know for certain when Max died because it was the Fall of 1989 when he decided that life wasn't worth living.

Been thinking about suicide quite a bit. Been wondering how you get to that dark place where you can't see daylight or feel the warmth of the sun. It is not because I have any desire to end my life because that is not remotely close.

We all have our troubles and I feel like I have received a double dose but I never seriously considered ending things. Strange to think about how many people I know who have because I can name a few more beyond those two.

I wasn't particularly close with any of them but I spent a lot of time with Max and Jimmy. We went to the same summer camps and participated in the same youth groups. Happy talk, isn't it, these musings about death.

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Been thinking about the various places in which I publish and wondering if it makes sense to have so many different outposts. I set them up with good reason and did my best to make them work for my purposes but things change. People change.

I have changed.

Most of my time is spent here. It is where I focus my energy but I can't quite this place up. There is too much wrapped up here, too many memories and good times. It is like my Tara, but I can't make it what it was. I can't chase the ghosts of the past because it prevents me from truly living in the present where I need to be.

What you see here and in the other places you may visit are parts and pieces of me. It is not a complete representation of who I am. Writing reveals much but not all and it would be a mistake to forget that.

Still there are stories to be told and tales to be had so I am off and running to find my best scribe and accumulate that which I can. It would please me greatly if you would come visit me at my main home.


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