Would That I Might

I did more work on that new piece of fiction I started last night, and I am still not entirely certain of where it is going.  It is an experiment, I have to remember, and it is not all that important if it turns out to be something great or not, not right now.  The goal is to build up an ability, to become consistent and proficient so that I can keep doing the work.  I really think that is what is most important for me right now, in terms of the fiction.  It is not about attempting to get better at the actual artistic intricacies but about building the ability to just get the work done.  The work I've done in the past to become a better writer is already a part of me.  I don't need to focus on that.  Rather, I need to train myself to do the actual writing, just as with poetry and, more recently, with non-fiction.  The only thing that matters right now is to keep going with writing the piece and working on it until I reach some sort of ending.

Shiva We went to her house and sat there. sat with her this afternoon. It was quiet. People had come but most were gone. It was the last day. Many people had already been. I do not know what it mattered, if it was good, if it made a difference that we were there, but I remember what it is  to be one who is without and needing so to not also be alone.

I started work on a piece of fiction tonight.  It is based on a random prompt that I was given today, and I am not really certain where the piece is going.  I didn't write a great deal yet, just a paragraph or so, but I think it would have been easy to keep going, it is just that I know I am going to have to get up early tomorrow and I still had a lot of other writing to get done.  It felt good to be working on it, and I think that I am moving in a good direction with it.  As I said, I am not at all certain where it is this story is going, though I know, from the prompt, a few things that have to be considered and their are certainly ideas percolating in my mind as a result.  I am excited to discover where this story goes when I work on it again tomorrow.

The Almost might be worse, might be. It hurts, always, anything besides  the desired "yes" will not bring anything but more upset, always that has been so and I do not expect  it will ever be otherwise. Why would it change? Even so, it may hurt more to know it was so close and still not enough. It is no good to find out everything was done right, was good, was recognized as worthwhile, just not quite enough for the outcome to be anything else but the same again. It will always hurt when that is what comes of it.

I wonder what it is about writing fiction that is difficult for me at the moment.  I suppose it is likely that it is just a matter of practicing more, and getting myself to practice has proven challenging for me, in a lot of ways.  I think that there may be something more that is in the way.  I had thought it might just be a difficulty with working in prose, but I have been writing a great deal of prose.  Even writing this journal, though written extemporaneously and often at the end of a long writing session, at times, tediously late into an evening, requires me to work in prose.  Even if I dismiss this as just my musings, and not a serious effort (though I do think any writing project to which one contributes daily for years counts as significant in ways that include and go beyond effort), I have written a great deal of prose lately that is more tightly focused, at least in terms of the specific ideas being communicated, and that project has been going quite well in most regards.  St

It Shames Me but I have no choice to be here and not there, and there may be better, I have no knack for doing well with what is here, have not gained what you have, and am conflicted, wonder if it is wrong, if it would be wrong for it to go well, considering it all. I wonder if it could be worse for it to go that way. I do not know. I am not certain what is proper. I do not have any trust that even these things are what should be done. I do not have answers. There are not many that I can even imagine. The questions, though, all of the questions.

It seems clear that Ira won't be make a direct impact here, though we have still been impacted with extreme rain and a few tornadoes in the area.  Melissa and I spent a long while making certain that we brought everything outside that might get knocked around by the wind into the garage or the house and secured whatever remained that couldn't be moved.  I think we are probably already through the worst of what will hit us here, but I will be quite shocked if tomorrow isn't all rain at the least.

Resemblance At the funeral your son's face was a haunting: I had not met him, kept thinking your name when he turned my way.

I started work on another, smaller prose piece.  This one is about Star Trek , and it should be fairly contained.  I started working on my longer piece but needed to get a bit of distance from it for the moment.  It is long and very focused and I sometimes feel a bit myopic working on it.  I am still having a bit of trouble getting the ideas together for this new piece, but I wrote a bunch already that I think will fit into the piece no matter what.   It is sometimes difficult for me to get all my ideas connected together at first, so I often find it best to just let go with what is ready, and now I can go back and write about the other ideas that I have in mind, even if it starts out disjoonted.

They Are Expected but it must be questioned if they will arrive, considering conditions. If one considers  the conditions, it becomes necessary, asking those questions, wondering what will be. It is not that clear, not If one thinks it through. It may be best if they do not arrive until later, but it is when they are due. If they arrive late, it will cause trouble. If they cannot be here when they are meant to be, with all the plans that were made, it is certain such plans were made and some things cannot be missed. They will not be dissuaded from the need.  They will not be, but the conditions  do not care about that.

I think I want to try to find a way to just let loose and write a fun, silly piece of fiction.  Something just meant to be enjoyed and not as serious as much of what often comes to mind for me.  I want to focus on making something that is intended to be kind of delightful and that I would be eager to read myself.  I want to get to a place where I am enjoying the journey of the story myself, where it is unfolding about me and I am along for the ride to some extent and really having a good time with it.  Maybe I am just describing the kind of flow state that often comes when really invested in a piece of writing, no matter the nature of it, but I think their is something else here.  I think I am wanting to let go of some of the pretensions that hold me back, perhaps?  I don't know if that is accurate.  It probably is, but I don't like admitting to it.  Calling myself pretentious stings a bit, even if I have to acknowledge the truth of it, at least a bit.  I mean, I am drawn to in

It Is Not Hidden but you won't notice it, have been taught that it is not there. It does not matter to you.  It does not impact you.  It is nothing at all, is an illusion that others imagine, that they have crafted. It is nothing real, though, you know it must not be. If such things were true you would be aware of it. You are (aren't you?) a good person who would be certain to notice if such things were happening, if it were even just a bit true.

I am working on a bit of media analysis as part of the prose work I've been doing. There is a television program relevant to the topic that I was recommended to watch and which I think has some interesting aspects worth exploring, but I am having a lot of trouble getting the ideas out in a coherent manner.  Part of the issue is that I keep trying to summarize the entire plot of the work in question.  I am aware that it may be something that my readers are not all familiar with, so it feels that it could be appropriate, but at the same time, it bogs everything down.  I know the important points I want to make.  I need to find a way to give enough context to explain those issues without getting stuck talking about everything else that isn't as relevant, it is just that doing that is not always easy.

There Are Nights When I Get It Wrong and what remains behind is marked out by the mistake. It is not a great matter, is not at all major, but I know it does happen.  I accept it. I could go seeking out the times it has happened, could correct each one, but it is a small thing and I do not think it matters, do not think it is important. Do not be confused: certain details matter. Things can seem small and still be more, still have great baring. It can be that way, but not in this case.

As I discussed yesterday, my brother's cat was put to sleep this morning.  He is up in New York so I couldn't be there, unfortunately, but our mother is there, so at least he was not alone.  I spoke with him several times and will probably call him again after this, but he seems to be doing alright, in general.  That is not to say that he isn't a mess, but I think, as sad as he is, he also realizes that Cisco had a full and happy life, and that he was lucky to have her as long as he did.  While her health had been in decline for a while, it didn't seem as if she was suffering very much, at least, I gather, not until these last several days.  He said that she was having issues with mobility and didn't seem to be able to move her rear legs.  As well, he told me that she didn't seem to be eating at all.  In the end, I think he was worried that she was starting to really suffer and he didn't want her to go through that.  It is a difficult thing no matter what, o

Another Yahrzeit The circle is etched again and we are returned to its beginning, and we remember this is the point, the journey is marked, the emptiness growing as the lines deepen with each new pass. We do not forget or turn from this. It is a part of us and of the world. Each day there are moments, but tomorrow, the same absence will be greater.

My brother called earlier today to tell me that his cat is not doing well.  It seems likely that he is going to have to put her down in the next few days, and I know he is understandably devastated.  She is eighteen years old now.  He first got her when he was in college, so she has been with him through his entire whole adult life, more or less.  I can't help but feel he is lucky that she was healthy for as long as she was.  Ulysses was just about to turn four when he passed away.  That was exactly three years ago this Saturday.

Too Many Broken Promises If you want me to believe that it is possible, then I need some evidence, and we both know: the only real proof is for it to happen. It is no good to say it can or offer hopeful anecdotes. I do not need that and it will not work. The only thing that can help is to know it is real, that is can be. I realize what I am saying and I know you will say I am being unreasonable, but I cannot keep having only hope.

It has been another long and frustrating day, and I really have not felt like working tonight.  Obviously, I did my writing in spite of my feelings.  I do feel glad about that, that my dedication remains even now, but I also worry.  There are so many things that are just not going well.  I am overwhelmed and scared, and I feel stuck in this situation.  The only thing that I want is some proof that things can get better; lately everything just seems to be going in the opposite direction.  I am still writing, but I find myself wondering what good that is even doing for me.  I need some proof that it can be different than this for me.

I Reached Out and you pushed away, and you will say it was reasonable, will offer excuses that are not relevant, will blame the sun for being too yellow, or say the smell of the grass was too strong at the time. It is not relevant, but I won't tell you that. You will not hear it if I tell you that. Anyone else would know, but you do not recognize what it really means when you do these things. I do not think you understand how much is communicated by your desire to have a reason  for not offering help.

I wish that I were writing more fiction at the moment.  I am working a great deal, writing poetry and prose each day, and I feel that much of the work I am doing is quite good.  Even so, I cannot help but want to craft more stories.  I am not certain why it is I find fiction both so alluring and so difficult, but I know I should get back to it.  I have had a few ideas for stories, but it has been months since I worked on any of them.  I think it would be good to start adding some fiction into my daily schedule again, but I am hesitant.  I don't always feel I can just jump into the fiction work in the same way.  I know that, if I get myself started on something, I will be able to follow through, but getting to that point where I am in the work is not always so simple.  Maybe if I found a book of decent prompts to work through or something it would help me?  I know the real truth is that I just need to get myself going and then I will be fine, so prompts can be a big help, at least i

Do Not Tell Me It Will Be Well I have heard that so many times. I know: it is what is said to placate, to quiet things until it is too late for anything to be done. I have been through it before. I do not want promises of what is to come. That is never anything but a delay.  It hasn't been true, not even once.  Maybe you mean to be different, but I am certain of what will happen. What can you offer that is more than a promise, more than words about what will come? There is not enough there. I do not have it in me to trust in that type of thing again.

I think that I may have found the concluding piece of my essay, though I do not know if it is all that clear at the moment.  It is interesting, as it wasn't so much that I discovered anything or even reached a new conclusion, it is more that I figured out what I have been observing all along and attempting to express.  As I said, I am not certain how clear it is right now, but now that I know where I am going and what I want to say, it will be far easier to organize the rest and craft the shape of the piece as a whole.  I am sure it will still be a great deal of work, but I now have a real vision for what I want to communicate to the reader, and that should make the work, if not quite simple, at least manageable  .

Interpreting I do not know if it was your intent or if this came to be through an accident, through a chance alignment of circumstances. If you meant it, if it was not  all random, do let me know. I am not certain what it means in either case, but I know each way, it is quite different

As I have been researching and reading, I keep having this dual experience.  On one hand, I will see something and be quite certain of what I am observing, will recognize it quite clearly, but I will also realize, almost at the same time, that it will not be at all obvious to most people.  I find myself wondering, at times, if I am going too far, if I am jumping at shadows, making conclusions that are not based on the evidence, even as I am looking at the evidence.  Others who have read what I am writing have not suggested that I am off base with my thoughts, but I am still uncertain.  I know I am not the first person to discuss these ideas, that much of what I have to say is accepted already, even if not considered by most people, but I still worry.  I think it is more a fear that what I have to say will be dismissed and ignored.  It would be quite upsetting if that were the case.  I have had experiences being ignored in this way before, and I wonder if that fear has been part of what

Required Reading I realized long before, far earlier, that it would be necessary, but I have been delaying.  I do not want to, would prefer  if it was not required.  I know, yes, that it must be, that I will have to.  If I don't, what good is the rest? It would all become pointless, maybe worse, maybe it would all turn out to be untrue, to be lies, or, at least, in the spirit of lies, if I do not.  Even now,  it seems so late to do that, but I can't change what is not done yet to what has already been accomplished without more time passing first.  I cannot make it so right now, can only do it.  I do not want to, but I know, I understand the need. It will not go well, I expect.  It is necessary, but my enjoyment is not.

One of the hardest parts about the remodel is that right now, Melissa and I do not really have a kitchen.  We can't really cook at home, and so we are kind of stuck getting prepared food or eating out.  Beyond the fact that this isn't all that healthy, and is rather expensive, it is also not the most fun thing, either, as we don't have a great many good options.  I really would like to be able to cook at home.  When this all started, we didn't expect to be without a kitchen anywhere near as long as it has been, and now I don't have a clue how much longer it is going to take, but it seems it will not be all that soon.  It is one of the things that is eating away at me each day, but I can't really do anything to change it right now.  I just have to try and cope with it as best I can.  It is just that I wish I were better at that.

Just Beginning It could be forever, that time before starting, the time wondering what to do first, what it will be that is going to begin. It would be simple to sit and consider options, to go close-eyed, meditating on all those possibilities, or just staring out at nothing or at anything, at something. Their can be a hesitation their, and it can be easy to stay still, to let it linger, to not choose, to not go anywhere at all but sit and wait until something is clear, something is certain. Of course, nothing can be sure, not in that way.  It is impossible to know for certain.  It must begin, or there is nothing.  What can be known before it has started?  Still, it is not easy to break through, not always.  Certainly, not today.

My writing tonight has been rather slow, though a lot of that has been a result of doing research.  I found myself going through some of what I had written recently for my prose and wanted to go a bit deeper with some of the material.  In doing a little more reading, I found a few new avenues to explore.  Some of them have not been easy to access.  I think I will need to go buy some books that I can't seem to get access to right now.   I had hoped they would be on Project Gutenberg, as they are rather old texts, but no luck with that, so I will need to explore other options or drop this line of inquiry for the moment.  It may be best to do the latter for now, as I am not entirely certain that it is worthwhile, and, in truth, I think I have enough with what I have found already.  I doubt that anything new I find will be more convincing or conclusive.  I expect if that were a possibility, I would have seen it referenced elsewhere in my research.  It would be nice to be thorough, of c

Just More It was no longer expected, was, in fact, a surprise, but when I saw it I had hope.  I mean, I wanted to think it might be good news, might be affirming, for once.  I need good news, need something to happen, a meaningful, positive development let us call it.  So much has been going wrong, so many things that cannot be ignored or walked away from, that need to be attended, and I am overwhelmed by it. I need something to happen that shows me it is still possible for things to be good, for things to not be always bad. Then you send me this. How were you to know? But still, it is more of what I already have too much.

If I am honest, I do not feel much like writing this entry tonight.  I am exhausted and feeling just emotionally drained as well as generally overwhelmed.  Nothing much happened today that really changed things, but so much has happened lately that is still hanging over me.  I have mentioned that the renovation on my house went very wrong and that has become a major headache with no clear or good resolution available.  As well, Perry died, which, beyond the immediate impact of a family member dying, has also changed things in terms of matters around Melissa's Mother's death that we have been dealing with.  Beyond any of that, and this is quite odd and I am not certain I really have a firm enough grasp on what happened to explain, but my Mother's cousin was taken hostage by his ex-girlfriend's ex-husband.  He was apparently bloodied up, and it seems like he was probably beaten, but it is not at all clear what really happened.  My mom had to drive out to where he lives an

I Will Have to Go Back and find all of it again. I could have done better by keeping track as I went along, but it is not easy, not for me, anyway. I am sure it may be simple for some people, but for me it is not that way. I have tried to learn, to do this or that but it is not how I function. I have learned better. It is not going to be simple but I will make it through and get all of it as it should be. The way it should be done, the way they say it should would be worse for me. I understand this. I know what happens when I forget.

I am finding myself very motivated with writing my prose lately.  I've done a lot of reading and researched a great deal, and it has me very excited.  Lately, I have actually been spending a fair amount of time just working on the piece outside my usual scheduled writing time, which is not typical of me when I am just writing poetry.  It is partly a byproduct of the work being continuous.  I am not starting out with a new thing each day, and often spend time considering what I want to bring up next and how to incorporate it into the narrative.  It has been some time since I felt myself this involved in a project of this sort.  Most of the time I am writing short pieces, quickly drafting them, so even when I have a piece that I am connecting with, it isn't sustained.  It is wonderful to feel this kind of drive, to find the work so compelling, and I am quite excited to see what the end result will be.

Overwhelm, Again So many other things have been happening and I am not able to be focused the way I want to focus.  I am trying to be on target with it all, to take care of things  and get it all done, but I am not doing well at that. I am admitting it, which is good, I think.  It is better  than pretending to be fine, than braving your way into furthering the disaster. No.  I do not want to perpetuate the problem by pretending it is not. I have no real answers or ways to make it better, but I know it exists. Perhaps it will help, but I am not certain. I recognize the harm in ignoring it altogether.

For the first time in several years, I shaved off my beard tonight.  I had been growing it for quite a while, though I did trim it on occasion, of course.  The choice to get rid of it was rather sudden.  I had been thinking of trimming, but then it just came on me that I wanted to be done with it for now.  I think it was a matter of releasing something, perhaps.  I sort of feel like it was a choice to kind of let go of some of what I have been carrying around for the last few years.  It was a symbolic beard, perhaps, a sign of some process that I had been keeping myself stuck in, and maybe by shaving it, I have also shed some negative energy.  Perhaps that was not true, but now I have programmed my mind to think it, and so it will become what I believe and how I act, will become true as a result of my writing this tonight.  I do not know, but I am thinking that, at the very least, I may get a better nights sleep without the difficulty of keeping my CPAP mask sealed despite a beard.

There Was Only One Good Thing that seemed to come of knowing, one small boon: that we could be done with him.  We had a reason to tell him he could not return, to end the contracts and move forward towards something better. It was all such a disaster, but he made that disaster, was responsible, and we had cause to fire him, had a way out. That was the only thing that was good. We knew we wanted to be done with him, knew he was no one we wanted to see again, let alone have him back to continue this. Now, though, you tell me to let him come back, now you make clear I was wrong to think anything good could come at all.

There is a strange thing that keeps occurring as I work on my essay: each time I begin to expect that I will start to wind down, I discover whole lot more that I feel is significant and necessary for me to explore, at least a bit.  I know that I will not be able to include all of what I am finding out right now, unless I make the piece a full length manuscript, but I also realize that I won't be able to bring it all together if I don't understand things fully.  I began this piece with a good sense of what I was talking about and a certainty that I would be able to make my case, but as I have read and researched, I've found far more than I expected.  To be honest, I am often quite surprised that some of the things I am noticing have not turned up in other papers I am reading, because it is so obvious.  A friend of mine who has looked at much of what I have written already told me he thinks that I should simultaneously begin cutting to make a shorter article that I can try to

Disarray Has Returned I had it all lined up, each element arranged so it would land just right, but now it is off again, disorder has emerged, taken over again after a short vacation. I need to find the way to get it all back in place but each effort has failed. I should solve the problem by getting appropriate tools.

I have been attempting to push myself to write different poems recently.  It is mainly that I felt a bit self-indulgent for a bit, as I found myself writing many poems that focused on personal complaints and venting.  I don't think that is always a bad place for a poem to begin, and I am sure there are poems I can think of from other poets that I think started out from that kind of space, but I felt like I was just stuck in that mode.  It didn't feel all that productive, at a certain point, not even so much in terms of my writing but also in terms of my own mental state.  While I don't write poetry as a personal process of self-discovery, I have to recognize that one of the important ways to grow as a poet is to continue to evolve as a person, and to be aware of the connection between my work and my own mind.  It has taken a long time for me to get to a place where I can do this work, and I want to keep going.  I don't know how easy that would be if the work remained st

When I Arrive Here, It Changes It is nothing different, nothing to be done is anything different, but it is not the same. I cannot explain the change, do not know what to name, what there is that is different. I do not think I change or that I do anything that is different, but I know it is not the same. It is being here, it is this place. Their is an intent that joins me when I arrive here, and stays upon my shoulder until I go, again.

A friend of mine from graduate school and I were chatting online a bit about Frankenstein , and the subject of the golem came up.  He is talking about introducing his students to the idea of the golem as part of a discussion of Shelley's novel.  Of course, it is easy to classify Frankenstein's creature as a sort of golem, though whether Mary Shelley was aware of the myth is not certain.  However, thinking on the connection, I began to have some interesting thoughts that I think might be worth exploring in a future essay.  Consider that the traditional golem is a magical construct, given life through Kabbalistic rites, while Frankenstein presents a sort of scientific golem.  The creature in the book is not raised through spells or incantations, but by means of scientific principles and methods.  I can't help but consider that this seems to reflect a shift in the nature of anti-Semitism that was underway in the 19th century, around the time Shelly wrote her novel.  In the mid

I Do Not Know If That Stain Came Out from the shirt I was wearing the other day. I felt terrible when I noticed it.  It was silly to wear that shirt while I was sitting around. I could have changed into something else, something that was not as delicate or as nice, but I had put it on earlier, when we went out. I wanted to be dressed well when we went out. I should have changed afterwards or been more careful.  I do not have so many nice shirts, and now I am worried I have one less. But, I did launder it.  The stain might have come out and it may all be fine. If the stain came out forget I said anything at all.

I returned, once more, to writing about some of the thornier issues that keep coming up in writing this prose piece.  It is still hanging there, waiting to be put down in a way that  I feel confident and comfortable about, but to do that hasn't been easy.  The ideas relate to bigotry and to specific stereotypes that involve the idea of abusive behavior.  It is not an easy subject in any way, and it is made more complicated by the context, which connects to other sorts of marginalization,  I think that I am getting towards what I really want to say this time, but it hasn't been easy to get there.  Part of what I had to do was to just take a larger perspective which allowed me to look at some of these issues first, to bring them up and discuss what was important before putting everything back together.  I still have more to write on this subject, but I think I found the way to approach it.  It has taken a while to get here, but I think this may be the last thing that I really nee

The Coming Disaster It will go that way, I know,  already it is clear, that is what I will be forced to do, though I will have explained how it harms me, how I feel letting him return this way. I want to feel I am being protected and this is the opposite, but it will come to be, and I will be made responsible, will be an accomplice to my own destruction. It is what I predict. Maybe I am wrong, but it seems so clear and I have been right before, so many times I have been right.

I spent a bunch more time working on that essay tonight.  I think I am really close to the point where I can pull it together, I just need to get myself to focus on that part of the process.  It probably would be helpful to get what I have done printed out so I can start rereading it and maybe playing with the possible order for it all.  I think I might just want to cut certain sections up and put them together, for example, and see how they work.  I know I will need to do more work once I have everything organized, but I don't know exactly what that work will need to be until I am at that point.  Maybe tomorrow I will get it onto paper so I can really get to work organizing everything this way.

Insecure What can be done to bring it all together and make certain it will be safe,  or is it too much already?  Is it possible, or is it already too much for any simple answer?  I want it all to be protected.  That is best, I understand.  I know I did nothing for so long. I could have done it over all this time, I could have been doing it. I did not, and I don't start, have never started.  I wait for a solution to all of it. I suppose it would be better to just do what I can, but that seems wrong, somehow. It might be best  if at least something were made safe, but I am only interested if it can be everything. It is not a good way to be, but it would upset me to think I had been unfair.

I am not really certain what to write here tonight.  It has been a long day and we got some more news related to things with our house, none of which was very cheering.  In truth, I really don't have any idea how to handle this.  It is already a total disaster and the only options that are available for me right now are all terrible.  I really feel quite lost right now in many ways.  My family is losing the home I grew up in and the house where I live is a total disaster.  I can't help but feel unmoored and unsafe.  

Family Recipe I know ingredients and most of the method: the problem is the proper order, and the exact proportions, too, I suppose. If he were about, he would know it all. It was his mother's recipe,  and he would know.  Maybe your father would know too, but I am not certain he would have learned it. I do not know if your father was the type who learned those things from his mother.  I knew my father.  I know he was that kind of son, but your father  is not a person I know so well. I do not want to ask him: I am afraid I will learn he cannot offer me what I am wanting now.

I spent some time earlier today rereading some of my older poems.  Part of this was looking back at the manuscript for a chapbook I would still like to get published, and some was just going through work in order to select some pieces for submissions and other things.  I hadn't gone back to this work in quite some time, and I found it very interesting to look at.  Some of the poems feel so different to me than the work I am doing now.  The themes and ideas remain similar, but I am writing work that feels very different in many ways.  For example, many of my older poems were far more narrative than the newer work tends to be.  I also feel like I am getting a lot more personal in my new work, and am veering towards a more direct approach.  I am certain that I am not through with those other modes of poetry.  Those older poems represent styles of poetry that I have always been fascinated with and I know that I may not be doing that kind of thing right now, but it is still a part of my

It All Began to Fit, But I Continued and now I wonder again if what I thought was so is not my own creation, is not me noticing what I choose and drawing a line between the points as if it were possible for two points to not line up. I do not know, now, as I keep going, but it feels too late to not continue, to not believe it all. Maybe, as I go forward I will find something more, will find it all coming together again. I must hope that is the case. I do not want these doubts. They make it much harder to be convincing.

I started to try writing an entry for tonight and just kept spinning my wheels and getting no place.  I'm overwhelmed and exhausted and just feel as if it is impossible to do anything that will make things better right now.  I don't just feel stuck, I feel trapped, and I do not know what I can do.  It doesn't seem as if there is any chance that I can find a way to actually make any of this better or even escape to something more positive.  I wish I didn't feel so doomed, and I wish that I actually thought writing about it might help me to feel better or to exorcise it or something, but it doesn't work that way for me, at least it never has.  The truth is, I am not going to feel better unless I can actually get things to be different in a real sense, and if I had the capacity to change things in that way, I would already have done it.  I don't really think there is an actual answer, in the end.  I think I am just going to be stuck with things being this way, and

You Cannot Cure This We discover your deceit and realize the disaster that is unfolding and you demand a chance, now, to do what you did not do, what should have been done already, want the opportunity to make it better, but you cannot fix this. You cannot undo the lies. There is not a way it can be right, and even if it could: we would never trust  when you told us it was as it should be.

As I mentioned last night, I've been dealing with a lot of things recently that are very upsetting.  As I think I have mentioned, just before the pandemic, Melissa and I bought a house.  We got a decent deal on it and were able to put together the money to do a bunch of work to get it renovated for us, but that entire process has been a disaster.  First of all, we had huge delays on everything because of Covid and stuff.  For a long while we waited patiently, but at a certain point we just didn't see anything progressing and we decided we had to get to the bottom of it.  Well, we hired a lawyer and he has discovered that our contractor never got any permits for any of the work that was being done, including electrical, plumbing, and construction.  Some of it is definitely not up to code, but even if it was, it is illegal for the work to be done without a permit, and it also would probably be a problem if we ever wanted to sell the house, not to mention that it would also potent

What You Propose Solves Nothing The problem is all that we have lost, is restoring what is gone without losing so much more, about not being in a place where that loss remains, where it is another time when it all went wrong. You speak of fixing it, but you only mean putting in more and getting back what should have  already been, what was to be before the loss, but at the cost of more, the cost of too much. That is not helping, is not making it better. Do not pretend that you are helping if that is your only answer. I do not want to pretend you are offering help when it is nothing but losing even more, when you want me to accept getting too little back and pretending that is fine.

Writing as much poetry as I tend to, a great deal of it is often begun spontaneously, without a great deal of intent.  This is not, to be certain, always true.  I often have ideas that take time to formulate into words, which are considered over time before their can even be a first draft, but those are rarely ever the only poems that I am working on.  As a result, I often find that the work reflects aspects of my life and experience, not always in terms of the content, but often in the emotional tenor, for example.  At times, as well, I do write about events and people or things that are concerning me, and often I will have poems that build on difficult issues that are arising in the world around me, whether personal or more general.  As a result of this approach, when things are bleak, I often find my poetry can follow.  Lately I have had a lot of bad news and things that are just going wrong.  As a result, a lot of the poetry I am writing seems to be reflecting these concerns and di

Will There Be Time or will he arrive first? I hope I am fast enough, I hope there is time, because I can lose my way, can lose all that is waiting down this path, if I wander from it, if I turn my head away. If he arrives,  I will be distracted, will need to tend to those matters, and maybe it will be gone when I come back. Of course, even now, all I have is my concern. Maybe I should wait until he is gone? I do not know. It may not wait even if I do.

I wrote one of the shorter prose pieces I have been intending to get to today.  Of course, I also did more work on my big essay as well, but I think that I might have begun to really explore a possible way to organize the piece.  I can see a few different threads that exist in the essay as a whole, and I am thinking I might have a good sense of how to compose it into a braided essay of a sort.  Their is certainly a personal essay element that I can expand to make a sort of centerpiece, and I have a few other elements that are already organized around certain topics within the piece, in a way that could work in that kind of construction.  I need to think about it a little more and decide how the other elements of the essay might work in this context, but I do like the idea of incorporating some of the disjointedness that has been part of my writing process on this piece.  I feel like some kind of multifaceted meta-essay is really the proper direction, even if not exactly what is general

You Say It Is A Good Thing that it is a solution, is helping me, but you do not understand  that all you are offering is to alleviate a symptom while promoting the disease. I have no other choice but to accept, I suppose, but I know: this will make it worse. Do you understand how much worse it will become? I do not have any other way. It has gone too wrong. I need a way  to make it better. What you offer is the only choice, but it will make it worse.

A friend of mine came by and I showed him a bunch of the writing I've been doing for this essay, and he seemed to find it quite impactful.  Of course, he is a bit of a biased reader, but I was able to ask him about certain points in the essay and whether they seemed to be coming through, and he was rather enthusiastic about it as a whole.  It is, of course, still in the form of notes, but I think it can be brought together with just a bit of work.  The real issue is more about getting myself to focus on that part of the task.  Of course, I am convinced I still have to do a bit more, that their are still certain things I have yet to discuss, but it may be that I can work on that while also considering the proper way to collect these pieces into a cohesive piece of work.

The Request I must do as you asked, I think, but I am not certain I like doing this, or if it is what is right to do, if it is what I want to do. I think it may be a problem. I will try to find a way for it to not be a problem, for it to be something else that is not at all a problem. I do not know  if it is possible to meet between, but I must find a way, or at least try. I want to meet your expectations, but I am also hoping principles can be retained.