"People are just as happy as they make up their minds to be." — Abraham Lincoln
Don't know if you've noticed, but I've been awfully constipated as of late. Not the type that Pepto-Bismol helps, but more of the Ican'tgetthewordsout kind. As afflictions go, it's pretty benign - but for someone with a full blown writing compulsion, it ranks right up there with a case of the bends. I should know; I've been blogging steadily since the Fall of 2004 and in that time have endured dry spells, writer's block and explosive diarrhea of the keyboard. If it's okay with you, I'm gonna move away from the gastrointestinal analogies - if only because I live with three females and access to a bathroom is never guaranteed. So while I search for another way to express myself, know that you have my complete permission to stop reading this right now, provided you promise to stop back by later for my usual TV News poop. Oops, there I go again.
Now, where was I? Oh yeah, lamenting my lack of output and asking you NOT to feel sorry for me. See, the very fact that someone other than myself is reading this provides its own kind of solace, though I'm at a loss to fully explain why. I suspect it has something to do with that basic need for human connection, albeit the kind where you or I never have to look at each other. I'm cool with that. I spend my every working day getting up close and personal with reporters, elected officials and reprobates, only to rush back to an edit bay and stare at their mugs on tiny TV screens. Yep, I get plenty of face time. What I need is a little distance, a sequestered spot where I can put my feet on the desk and my mind on a shelf. I've been doing that for damn near five years now and the approaching anniversary is weighing on my frontal lobe. Maybe that's why I can't think straight...
Premature Admission (ewww...): I was going to pull the plug on this blog come November, hole up in my dusty lair and hammer out a self-publishable version of The Book. I even called up a few dear friends and floated the idea past them. Most liked the idea of me finally twisting my treasure into something you could take to the can, but most warned me not to suspend the website without a lot of thought. PFFFT! I wake up at night thinking about this website, what it was, what it now is, what it can someday be. You might view this place as a guilty pleasure every now and then, but to me it's the living preamble to the hardback I want tossed in my casket someday. If that means I'm possessed, so be it. From what those in the know tell me, it's exactly what you have to be to get your name on a library spine.
Soooo, to make a five year long story even longer, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I'm NOT shuttering the blog. My plans, my sanity, my ego will not allow it. These pages - and you fine folk who have seen fit to drop by now and then - have helped set in motion something I would have never done by my lonesome. That's really kind of pathetic, as it's been MY dream all along. Still, you work with what you got and I got a wealth of material, some generous friends and a book proposal to write. I may indeed SELF-publish someday, but first the professionals are gonna have to tell me I suck. Until then, look for this site to thrive - though I do reserve the right to go dark once in awhile. Just don't think I'm all that tortured about it. I'm not. In fact, I've found my early forties to be quite satisfying. No longer so unsure of myself, or overly concerned with how others see me, I am attaining a level of Zen simply by pretending to be enlightened. Try it sometime: you'd be amazed how good not giving a shit feels.
Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta hit the latrine.