And So The Journey Begins

Anyone who knows me, possibly not a very long list if you want to get metaphorical, will know that I have a terrible track record when it comes to keeping blogs up-to-date. This appears to be an adjunct to my inability to keep a diary as a child and stems, I suspect, from an innate desire to keep myself private. Secrecy. Protection. I also have a feeling I have been, in the past, somewhat frustrated that my glances back on the writing that I have done never feels right. Despite every good intention when I start writing, looking back always made me think, 'Gee, what was I on that day?'

And then I got to thinking; well, people change. I've always been quietly in despair of the fact that I seem to barely ever change, that my life is one long stagnation because I won't get off my rather rotund behind to go and do anything for fear that I won't succeed at it. I have a very good imagination, there's a lot I can do with possible failure in the confines of my head. If this is evidence that I do have the ability to evolve after all, shouldn't I be rejoicing? Sounds reasonable to me.

There is also the strong possibility that I have always written with an audience in mind, even if I have feared that audience and even if the only audience is myself. I tend to be a bit of a showman with words because I enjoy them so much and witticism seems a growing addiction. It's not necessarily a bad thing but it doesn't really ring true during times when a straighter bat is possibly needed. Sometimes, things aren't funny. Sometimes, you have to start yelling.

And then there's a matter of what to write about. What do I do that's worth writing about? Most of the blogs I follow seem to be written by parents and as a teacher, I can see how that one role can spark up a lot of material for reflection. Wait a minute...I'm a teacher. Albeit not a fulltime one, but that's not quite the 'nothing' I tend to classify my life as being.


Maybe I can give this a shot.

So here we are, the road to Paradise. The hood's down and the music's cranked as loud as the FM radio stuck on hillbilly music can go, nose pointed towards the setting sun with absolutely no idea if the next turn is going to produce just more sheep in fields or a cow in the middle of the road. (Not an amusing thing, ask my brother.) After all, it's a funny thing, this phenomenon we call life. If I can't rustle up a few interesting stories throughout the week then I guess I'll just have to look harder for them.


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