The pen is a dangerous thing. With one flick of a wayward Bic, you can leave indelible evidence of your wisdom or produce an unwanted record of your ignorance. With one stroke, you can enlighten a day or usher in storm clouds of contention.
Either way, I have a pen in my hand today. I decided to take the age-old advice to start writing letters to the people in my life. Some letters represent hopes of squashing old hurts. Some letters signify my need to express love to somebody I may have neglected over the years.
Of course these letters will never see the blue-uniformed image of a US mailman. Time and circumstance may change the way I see things. A penned letter may become permanent (perhaps damaging) evidence of an old thought kept mercilessly alive in somebody's underwear drawer.
So I’ll send them in my mind… all returned to sender for Insufficient Postage.
I suspect this series will feature a multitude of tears, fears, and cheers as forgotten memories begin flooding the pages. Names will be changed to protect the guilty and the innocent. But I’m sure if anybody knew to find me here, they’d also recognize themselves in my growing pile of returned mail.
Won’t you join me over the next several weeks?
I drive by this blog, peek out the side window, and speed off like I don't live here. The problem is... I DO live here, and I am neglecting the crib.
On any given day, I have loads to say. Those words simply haven't made it to this blog in 2 months. It's time to change that. Blogging is free therapy. Sharing my words with others make me accountable to myself. When I pen my thoughts, bullshit gets illuminated. Kinda like the the gems of time when you catch yourself giving advice to your kids that you haven't even applied to your own life.
I started reading a series on male promiscuity today. A friend sent the random link and I found myself engrossed in this man's take on the subject.
The series is still in progress. You can check it here while I continue to get my thoughts together:
Blog Name:
The Black Bond Blog
Links for the Series:
1. Intro Male Promiscuity
2. Male Promiscuity Part 2. How it Starts
3. Promiscuity Interlude: Apparently a warning that the rest will contain vividly graphic language.
It doesn't take long to figure out the reasons this blogger claims to have received hate mail. He doesn't mince a single word - which is a trait I tend to appreciate as others may loathe.
Enjoy. (Or Not) hehe
I can just see y'all walking through the blog... staring at the blank walls... kicking at the dust... and shaking your heads about how abandoned this place has become.
Pass me a broom and STFU.
I'm not sure why I haven't been writing. Almost every day, my thoughts lead me to questions, answers, and personal commentary perfectly fit to share with you here.
But my body won't make the trip. My limbs won't cooperate in the terror of sharing what has been going on, what I have been thinking, or my comfort level in walking towards the uncertainty called "tomorrow."
So I stopped in today after taking a trip to The Breakup Diaries.
Part of me keeps waiting to write because I like things all wrapped-up... like the resolution of family issues in a single 1/2 hour TV spot. But this shit is a process. A PRAH...SESS. I'll be 50 by the time I could box this story and present it to you with a bow.
My real goal today:
To break the ice for a return to the blog I love to hate.
Me too. I'm talking about His Side and his view of the world (from the Mountaintop of Wisdom that exists only in his head).
See? Did you see that? I just threw some snark out there... and it was like a tree falling in the woods with nobody there to hear it. No reaction from His Side, 'cause he's over on the sidelines drinking a cup of Gato.rade with a thumb stuck up his ass.
In other words, I am officially on strike until His Side says something... anything... on this blog.
While you're waiting, how about taking some time to read this blog post, plus the interesting (and sometimes heated) conversation that followed in the comments:
Blog: The Breakup Diaries
Post: Birthday Gift
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