Would That I Might

I am not certain what to write here tonight.  In all honesty, I just want to wrap it up and be done with my work for the night so I can get myself to bed.  I've been getting up early to help Melissa in the morning, and so my days have been pretty long the past week or so.  I am glad to do it and to support her work as an election official.  I have also been doing a lot more cooking and such at home while she's been working, trying to make it easy for her when she gets home by having dinner ready to go.  That wouldn't be such a big deal, but we still don't have a real kitchen at the moment, so I am doing almost everything in a toaster oven, and without any kind of stovetop.  Anyhow, I am tired and ready to wind down for the evening, now that I am done with my regular writing routine-.

I Have Not Returned to That Place, have not sat beneath those trees for a long while now.  I should go, should be there again, but I am not eager, not now: I know what was done, the changes.  Much is gone, so much torn away, thinned out.  The way it was, I did not fear things there. I had comfort in that place. Most of the time, I had comfort. But now, it does not seem the same. I am afraid of eyes and ears and judgements.  

I need to come up with a new prose project to begin writing so that I can shift my focus.  I have a few ideas that I might want to explore.  Until I figure out something new, I am afraid that I will keep working to add more to this piece.  It may well be that I have more to add on the subject, but I know that I want to focus on revising what I have and putting together a shorter piece on the subject.  It is difficult to focus on that when I am still working on writing about the topic as well.  I have a few ideas that might be good for me to focus on, and I did begin a bit of work on something a few weeks back that I might want to return to, or even just start again.  I think it might be that I will just write a little craft essay or maybe something a little more personal as opposed to digging in on another research heavy piece right away.

The Set-Up You have laid a trap for yourself, closed the door on resolution by opening two paths that both carry dissatisfaction. Perhaps, you have an idea, a way that will go beyond what is within the boundaries I think you have made yourself. I could be limited, could know too little. It will take time to find out, but right now, I have my predictions of the outcomes which are possible, the kinds of outcomes that are possible. It may be something else, yes. I hope that is the case, it would be so much better than what I am imagining.

I would like to figure out the end of this story I am writing.  I've had a sense that it is winding down, but I am not entirely certain where it will really end.  There are a few events that have been in the back of my head, images that I think will come to pass before it concludes, but I am not entirely sure, and even those events are not fully clear to me.  The main idea involves a large tree that was introduced early in the story, with it kind of becoming animate and interacting with the main character in some way.  I am not fully clear how or what that would entail, but I think it might be a necessary step towards a kind of resolution for the piece as a whole.  As I mentioned the other day, the current status in the story is very far from the normal world of the characters, and I am trying to figure out a way to reach a resolution that won't just leave it in a way that is just abrupt and random seeming.  I think there needs to be some concluding event that offers the reader

The Spark of It Was Enough, That is what made it and that can be had without more, with just that. It is not always so: it can take a great deal. There are many times when it is best to continue. It is more often that way, I find it is more often that way. It may not be everyone's experience. I can only say how it is for me, how I find it to be when I try. But even so, it is not one way, not with consistency.  One time it is this, the next, it is that. It is knowing which is which, recognizing the times  when it is just this that is needed and keeping from treating them the way you do when it would not be enough.

I finally have a printed copy of the prose that I have been working on and I should be able to begin working to edit it more easily.  I think the first real step is going to be just getting things broken up into various categories.  The first part of that process should not be too difficult to do, I don't think, as I can think of some fairly broad categories that should let me weed out a fair bit of material that can be put aside at least for the moment.  I expect it will take a lot of work to get what is there into a really orderly and cohesive format, but I have confidence that the material itself is good and will shine through in the end.  I am hoping that I have a bit of time to work on it tomorrow, but I am not certain if I will as I already have a pretty busy day.  Fortunately, I don't believe that I have much planned for Sunday.

I Expected More to Come but it did not come, or, maybe something did come but it was not anything wanted, not anything to be entertained. Maybe, I had to be rid of it. That happens too.  It can end or not end, or think it has ended. Maybe there is still more that will come later when I cannot yet know about. I do not have answers for all the possible things. I do not want to say what can be or cannot be or what there is now as if it is all there is.

I am hoping to finally get the prose essay printed out tomorrow so I can really begin the process of organizing it and editing the whole thing into a more cohesive version.  In addition, I am certain that a good deal of what is there will be easily removed.  A lot of what I have written is not directly about the central subject, and goes very deep into things that could just be touched upon, if mentioned at all.  A friend of mine who has read some of it suggested that I put together two different versions: one that is shortened into an essay and another that has become a full length book of its own.  I am not certain that I agree about the idea of turning it into a solo volume, though it is already far too large for most publications (at least fifty pages thus far).  I suspect it may become more than one piece, perhaps, but I know that I need to start by pulling together a general version of the piece that pulls the major points together in a tighter and more coherent package.  My appr

This Is to Be A New Start It all began with ease and could have gone forward just as it was, could have, was ready, was happening and moving, making the progress that would have led to a destination, but it was clear it was only going to that place, again, going back there, and so soon, returning.  Maybe it would have worked, would have gone farther, not just to the same destination but beyond it.  That is possible. I suppose it could have happened, but it seemed best to begin again. If that journey is still to be made it can begin another day just easily as it did on this one.

I think that I might be getting close to the end of this story I have been writing, even though I am not certain about how to end it.  It has reached a point where it is really absurd and the situation is clearly impossible, and that is fine, but I am not certain how to resolve any of it, or if their can be a resolution.  I need something to occur that at least gives a sense of an ending, even if it does not actually function to resolve the story or shut things down.  It needs to give the reader a way off the ride that makes them feel it was worth taking, in some way or another, even if it is not a traditional ending.  Indeed, the plot of this piece is not at all traditional in a way that I think makes a traditional ending impossible.  I suppose I could try to find a way to resolve things so the characters end in a normal, mundane reality, but any way that I can think of which might facilitate that feels like it would need to come along in a way as absurd and out of nowhere as all the

I Do Feel Glad to Be Invited to your meeting this week. It is a change.  I have not felt you wanted me around or thought I could do anything that might be of value. It is a shift, this invitation. I do not want to think too much of it. I do not want to be optimistic at all, not knowing my experiences, but I feel positive, anyway. It is the first time in quite a while I have felt that way, and I want to hope it is a shift towards better. I know a lot is still not right, but this is something. I want to focus on that, at least for now. I am so often pessimistic, but maybe it is okay, for the moment, to have a bit of hope about what this means.

I keep working on this same piece of prose and I think that some of what I am doing right now may just be a result of my being kind of stuck.  I have written far more on this subject than I had expected to, and some of what I discovered is really interesting and I am quite glad to have kept going until I found it, but a lot of the writing that I am doing at the moment just feels like I am forcing myself to find more to say about this same thing, and that isn't helpful.  It may be that I have more to say, but not at the moment, not without further reading and thinking about the subject.  Right now, I need to get myself to focus on editing it into a more coherent piece and starting another prose piece on an unrelated subject.

The Second Attempt Was it better or was it the same and you think it was better but it was the same? I do not know, would not know, could not tell even if you asked me. I am not the one who should be asked. It is not my arena. I have other things I can judge. I am not even certain what it is you mean when you decide to explain what is right or what is wrong. I did what I did and I think it worked. It was not much different, not at all that different than what I did before. I do not know if there is a change or why that would be. I do not have answers. I am surprised to even have these questions.

Tomorrow is going to be another early day though not quite as early as today.  I think we are going to leave around five thirty, instead of needing to arrive around that time.  I am rather exhausted at the moment, though, so I think I am going to just keep this short tonight and get myself to bed sooner than later.  I think that tomorrow I might try to get more work done earlier in the day so I might have a chance of getting to bed even earlier.

I Worry About What Is Coming whether I will know how to be careful in those ways I should be. I know what to do.  I can imagine what is right.  I have studied it and thought it all through, but I am not always good. It is easy to be goaded, to be a fool, to act out and do what is not right. It is a thing that can happen even when you know. The moment is short and it takes little  to do what is not needed. Maybe it is enough that I know.  Maybe knowing will be enough protection.

Tomorrow is the first day of early voting here and Melissa is going to be working as an assistant site supervisor at one of the local polling places.  She has to arrive quite early tomorrow (around five in the morning) and I promised I would drive her, as we only have one car.  I should probably have gotten my work done earlier today, but here I am.  At least I am getting done before midnight.  Even if I only get a few hours of sleep before I drive her, at least I can come back home.  I am lucky to be free most of the rest of the morning, so I can get a bit more rest if I need to.

I Did Not Worry but I wonder if you think I should have  been worrying. The way you talked when you called I thought you were upset I had not been worrying, had not called you to be certain you were fine, even though I saw you  just yesterday and you were fine and nothing had happened to suggest otherwise. I do not know why I should be worrying so much about your welfare. Is something wrong that you won't say but you want me to know anyhow? What is worse, I know if I called each day with concern you would be mad and say  I was too invasive.

I have been doing a bunch more research for my non-fiction writing, including reading some first hand sources that I had not considered before.  To be honest, some of this feels a bit off topic, as it is not directly about the general subject of the piece overall, but it is a powerful and important tangent, not an irrelevant deviation from the work.  Still, it has me doing some unexpected reading, and I am thinking that what I am reading offers a good deal of necessary context, as well as demonstrating the existence of the same issues I am discussing in the essay in the past.  Beyond any of that, though, I am also gaining a personal appreciation for aspects of these issues from my exposure to certain kinds of contemporary voices that I had not previously read.  I am finding it quite intriguing and am considering how I might broaden this aspect of the research I am conducting, perhaps in a way that will allow me to look at some material that is more directly relevant to the core subject

Another Chance A new angle appeared, a new way to look on it and talk about things, a perspective, a voice that came from that place, that world.  It was new and changed things, gave a way in that had been absent. What could be shown that was not clear? What would change now, in this context? Things couldn't be just as they were, not after this discovery. It seemed so clear it was time, change was coming.  It was time. It was so clear, wasn't it so clear? Wasn't it supposed to be the final thing that made it real after so much else?

I have an idea that I think would make a good premise for a story.  It is a concept around a new technology that would solve a combination of problems in a strange and kind of silly way that also makes, sort of makes sense.  I feel like it is the kind of premise that requires a certain kind of plot formula, a sort of wish fulfillment story.  I think it might be pretty easy to right such a piece, and it could be a bit more commercial than a lot of the ideas I have had before.  I still have to work out a bunch of the story and put together the specifics of the plot in a way that feels satisfying and real.  I definitely have the core of the idea, but I recognize, as well, that the plot needs for things to go wrong in certain ways, or else what is the point of the story?  I have a few thoughts on what that could mean right now, but I am not certain about it yet.  I need to think on it a bit more, which is fine, as I am still working on that same story I have had going for a few weeks now.

It Was Too Slow but otherwise it was fine. I think it was, I think it went well and everyone was good, but it was quite slow. Leisurely paced, I suppose. You might claim it is cultural, but I think you can admit it was not at all fast. It would be fine, but it was too long. I did not need to be there that long, did not need to sit at that table for that long. It was fine, I think, in most ways, though by the end we all were ready to not be there.

I do think that this story is going to have a very different and kind of out of left-field ending at this point.  I kind of think that the main character is going to rebel against me in a certain way, and I am totally into it, really.  I mean, I think this character's response to events is going to kind of break the story in a way, because I have pushed them too far.  The events in the story have been strange and have warped their reality to a point where they can't understand any longer.  It wasn't what I expected or planned, as much as I had any real plan for the story, and I am kind of excited to find that the character is sort of pushing against me in this way.  I think it might actually take this story in a very exciting direction, maybe even turn into something quite different and maybe in line with certain ideas I have had in mind but been uncertain how to work with.  Maybe it won't work, of course, and will just seem to be a meandering waste, but I have hope it

I Am Not Certain It Was Enough but it was what I could do within the constraints. I wanted to do better, to do more, to do it right in all those ways I know it was not quite there, was not as right as it could be, but I could only do my best and deal with how things are. It was not bad, I know, it was alright. Maybe it was better than I think. I am not able to trust  that it was anything good. I think it is impossible with the way things are now for it to turn out that well. That might be in my mind, though. I have to hope so, or else what can I do about it? I do not know what to do even if it is  just a persistent illusion.

The short story I am working on has taken a rather odd turn, but I am feeling as if it is also clarifying where to go for me.  I mean, in some sense it is a huge mess right now.  I think that certain of the developments in the story at the moment might feel unearned and over the top in a way, like the author just reached down and shook the ant farm up to change things around, but I also think it might be the way this story needs to be, at least right now.  I am still working on a first draft, and that is often about finding out what you need to say, what the story is really and what is necessary for it to be told fully.  Also, I can't help but recognize that this kind of interference by the author can be seen as a form of metafiction, especially in a Brechtian framework where the point is largely to puncture the artifice and make the audience recognize the unreality of the depiction.  Even more, though, these shifts have given me a bit of clarity in terms of the elements I want to

No Comment It remains and will remain and I will do nothing and you can ask but I will do nothing and say nothing. I can be stubborn about what is  and what has been and what should be. There are rules and they are clear on such matters and it is not for me to say a thing or respond. This is not a problem I must redress. It is all you it is your problem, your distress, your straining for unwarranted resolution. I do not have a thing to say. I have said too much by even saying I have nothing to say. It should be clear, I should have thought it would be, but then you spoke.

I have not been feeling all that well today.  My main complaint has been stomach upset, which I suspect is a result of some medicines that I have been taking.  I don't think I am sick with anything, have not had any fever or other indicators beyond just my feeling a bit nauseated, and I am hoping that it will pass by tomorrow.  Even so, I still got my writing done tonight.  I always consider it a small triumph when I keep up with my writing in spite of set-backs and distractions.  It feels important to know that dedication is still alive inside me.

When You Did Not Ask I thought it was good and felt relieved. I hoped you  had recognized without discussion the wrong of it, but you only forgot, raised it back to life soon after.  I do not know what I must do. I am not comfortable telling you what you must hear. It should not be my responsibility.

Things in the story I am writing have taken a bit of a turn tonight.  I was not certain where it would go, exactly, and it has developed in a way that is a bit unexpected, but I am enjoying the shift.  It was already an odd story, and now it is getting to a place of real weirdness, I think.  I don't know if it is anything that anyone else would want to read, to be honest.  I am writing it and just keeping going because that is the task.  If I start worrying about the rest of it, about what is good or bad and whether it is working right now, I think it would overwhelm me in a certain way and I wouldn't have the ability to keep going.  It may just be that I need to get to the end and I will realize what I have been doing all along, or it may be junk and I won't ever want to look at it again, but most likely it will be somewhere in the middle and I will need to go back and work on it to make everything fit together.  At the moment, I am just allowing myself the freedom that I

I Was Uncertain but I chose which I thought would be best. I did not think it was the best of all that was, but thought it best for what was to come. I thought it was good, in general it was good. Better than that, maybe. At the least it was good, but I do not think it was the best in all ways. it did not need to be, and besides: what can be best in all ways, what even does that mean? I do not know if I meant that even when I wrote it as what it was not. I am certain it was good and was best under the circumstances. Even if something better  was waiting there, it was not right. It was only better and that is not enough to make it  the thing that was needed. Even so, I wonder. It might be I chose  less than ideally. What good is it, though, to think such things now when it is already done?

I started out my work tonight in much the same way as last night.  My energy was low, and I was not feeling very much in the mood.  Part of me was a bit worried, considering how I felt last night, but I was wrong to be concerned.  Once I was settled in to the work, that spark lit up and I found myself rather pleased by what I was writing.  I am still a bit tired, really, and I do want to wrap this up and wrap up my evening, but I still felt a connection with the work in a way that seemed distant last night.  I am still exhausted right now and eager to get the work finished, but that happens.  The fact that I really connected with the writing I was doing even though I am dragging means a great deal to me right now.

They Did Not Ask because they never knew, were never told. I chose to be silent and keep it  from them: I thought it best, easiest at least. If they had known and had asked and brought it up and said too much, that would be  too much, might be harmful. I fear it might be what would come. I said nothing and did not allow it, and instead you are upset that no one asked.

I really did not feel much like writing tonight.  Most nights, even if I start out feeling uninspired, I find that it shifts as I do the work, but tonight, I really just have been low energy.  I still got through the work, and I think that some of what I wrote was actually pretty good, but I wasn't feeling as connected to it as usual.  I suppose that is natural and normal.  I like to think of myself as trained to be a professional, and I think that being a professional often involves doing the job even when you aren't feeling it.  Even so, I hope that tonight was just a fluke.  I expect it was.  Today was a bit of a strange and difficult day and I suspect that I am just a bit drained from dealing with things.

I Am Thinking of Going Out I should just go to bed but I am not certain if that is what I will do or if I will be foolish, will be worse than just foolish and go out there for what I don't need, what I know is not good for me and is nothing I require.  It is desire pushing me, needling  for what is wanted. I know better but I am not certain I have control over the choice. One moment I think I do, but the want is still there, over my shoulder. I feel its needy breath.

I have a clear sense of how I think the story I am writing is going to end, and I think that, in a very real way, that ending is intended to just come out of nowhere and could be dropped in at almost any point.  But I also realize the story still needs to be able to earn that ending, to make it work, and that the things which happen and exist already need to add up.  I have a few questions that I want to answer, ideas that are present in the story and which should have a payoff, things that need to be connected together and given larger meanings.  I do not yet have all of those answers, but I do have a sense of certain events that I feel might provide more of them, and a shape of what is to come.  I purposefully wrote a kind of leading last sentence tonight, one that foreshadows things to come.  It was intended, as well, to push me to go farther tomorrow, to push things forward in some ways.  I can recognize where this tale needs to go, and I think there is a certain destructive, angry

Stepping Forward I must take it on and go within and through. It is a necessity, a required task. I think it is.   So much already is done, and this remains, waits. You ask me and I tell you I will. I do not like it, I do not want to go so far, but it is needed. It is the clear way to reach the real end.

One thing that I am quite certain about is the need to keep focusing on my writing each day.  This is true in a number of difference ways.  First, I mean it in the largest and most general, in terms of my practice, my dedication to writing each day.  For me, the center of that practice tends to be my poetry, and I do feel that I gain a great deal writing poetry every day.  Also, as someone who had a good deal of trouble training myself to write without any external accountability, it is an important to me that I keep going and don't lose this momentum.  I know that it has happened on a few occasions that, for one reason or another, I have neglected my work for a day, but in general, I have kept this practice going.  It is an important part of my daily routine now and I feel it gives me a sense that I am at least accomplishing something, if only in the sense of having done this work.  But, for me, their is also a way in which I feel that writing on a larger project often needs to be

An Uncertain Strategy I can't know who will come stumbling through, roll in by chance or else by a choice made or a bit of a whim that turns the head this way. It is never certain what will work or why or who it is that it has worked for. I have no science for assessing it, for determining what is best  and what is not so good. I think it is better, though, it keeps me honest and a bit free.  I do not know what would come of it all if I were so calculated in each decision. I suppose it might help, might improve things in tangible ways, but the intangibles matter so much, don't they matter, too? It is not as if I know how I would do otherwise, even if I wanted to. It is only a question, another one that cannot be answered and only throws doubt on what will not change.

I feel rather strange about this story I am writing.  There is a general sense that I have of where it is going and what is coming, though it remains a bit vague, and it isn't all that cohesive yet, as if their is some major element that still needs to come into focus, but I have a trajectory and an idea of what is happening from moment to moment, at least for now.  I even have a sense of where I think it is likely to go in order to wrap up, or at least a sort of inclination for that ending.  At the same time, I am still in a place where I am just kind of clinging on to the story by writing it each day.  I believe it will come together, but I am not yet  able to really push forward with it, just drifting along a bit at a time.  I know that something will eventually click and it will take off, or I like to believe that, and I do think that if I keep at it each day, at some point it will come into focus for me and I will be able to get it all out, but I am not there yet.  I hope it w

Outcome I do not know at all if any of this is helping or if it is only a distraction, and I want to think it is good, I do want to believe it is not a waste, is real, has substance. I want to know it is leading forward and making progress towards those goals which already existed. It was all discussed in those terms and even so I am not sure what is happening or if it connects. I do not know what I should do or how to explain the problem. I want to see that it is doing what is needed but the only way is through an outcome, is through evidence in the results. I am sure  I will be told it is not reasonable to expect that, but if it cannot be had, what is there to show? I need to be shown something more than these things, need to know it has been worthwhile in those terms. It is not a small thing. I have given over what was needed and only wish to know it was truly for what I was promised.

I returned to work on my long prose piece once more today.  I had set it aside for a bit, but tonight I had a few thoughts that I felt were important to express.  In many ways, they were in the mode of a conclusion, a sort of summation or ending note for the work, though not one that offers any true resolution.  Part of the problem with the piece is that I don't think their is a real resolution to be found.  It offers a legitimate perspective, one that feels in need of a response, but it is also unrealistic to expect things to shift because of that.  It is a bit like shouting into the wind, I suppose, though I think, if I can get the work organized and get it in front of readers, it might have a shot to do something more than that.  I have to hope that some folks are able understand and have their perspective shifted, if only a bit.

Your Intent I want you to realize that if you do that, if you allow it to be what happens, it will cause damage you can't undo. It will be more and worse and I know. Are you a fool? I want to say you must not but if I do, you will act as if I am the one who is wronging you, and if it is ended, you will make certain I get the blame. It can't be stopped without damage and it cannot happen without harm beginning that will only grow. I do not know what to do. I don't want to say a thing, right now, don't want to stop it, because I know if I say or do that, it will be no good, either, but if it happens, if I let it continue, it will not be fine, that will not be anything that is even a bit alright, either.

Earlier today, I randomly had an idea for a story.  It was just a single line that came to me, but from it I understood the whole concept and even the general way to tell it.  It is not a very complicated story, is really the sort of thing that runs almost totally on the premise, so it wasn't really all that hard to get the general concept sketched out in my mind.  I knew, though, that I needed to get to work on it and put it onto paper, or I would just lose it and forget.  Of course, I am still working on another story, and I wasn't sure what I would do with that.  I don't usually work on more than one piece of fiction at a time, but I didn't want to lose momentum on the story I have been writing, and I didn't want to lose the inspiration for the new story, so I spent a few minutes on the first story, just writing a little more to keep it going and not lose the flow of it, and then I went to work and drafted the new piece.  It is not a very long piece, only around

I Still Need to Do It but it is too late to do it when it must be done because that time has already passed and I don't know if late is good or if now it is impossible to do it  in a way that is not the same as never having done it, so I haven't. I know I should, but it is easier to keep forgetting and not find out the consequences. It is so much easier, you can't deal with the consequences if you do not know them.

In many ways, I don't feel very good about things right now.  There is a lot going on in my life at the moment that just isn't going well, and I am not certain what can be done about so much of that.  At the same time, I am also aware that I have been able to get myself to a point where I am doing much of the writing I want to be doing.  I am creating new work daily, and I have pushed myself to write more than poetry, adding non-fiction prose and now fiction as well, and I have been keeping up with it all.  I am proud of this, but I will admit that it doesn't really help me to feel much better at the moment.  Ironically, while I know that writing each day has been very good for me in many ways, and gives me a sense that I am at least doing the work I should be doing in spite of anything else, I also know that I feel a lot of negativity that I might not if I didn't write so much.  I mean, if I weren't writing, I wouldn't have to face the difficulty of getting the

I Have to Refuse It will take one of us, or, I think, both, really.  I think it will require both of us, each day, both of us focusing on this, making certain of what is happening, It will require it, and it will need more than this, will need more of everything, in time, in money, too.  It will cost. It will be more than we want it to be. I do not imagine it will be worth what is needed, and I am not willing to do all of that, to have that be what we do. Only, I know there is not another choice that we can make. It is the only way. We must do it.

I began work on a new prose piece tonight, one that I think might be topical, if I can get it together.  To be honest, I am having difficulty getting my ideas flowing, but I began with a sort of overview, a broader perspective than I intend to focus on, and ideas that are more widely discussed than the specifics I plan to draw out.  It may be that I won't need that part of the piece when I get through it, but it helped to orient me and I think that I will be able to jump into more of the stuff I want to say when I get back to work on it tomorrow.  I often find that is the best approach for me with any kind of writing.  Beginning can feel so overwhelming and intimidating, and when you have a clear idea of what you want to say, it is often not an idea that feels easy to just jump into.  Often it seems important to have a starting point first so you can lead in to that subject and that introduction is not necessarily clear just because the other ideas are ready.  One of the lessons of

It Would Be Better if it had been done all the time it was ongoing, but it did not happen, has never happened, not any of it, not at all. It is my fault for not starting, and I could start right now, going from here have it done, make it simpler from here on, but even now: I do nothing. I don't want to say I knew the mistake, don't want to admit what I failed to do by doing it now. It is easier for my ego to pretend I have no idea and wait until it is necessary and fully a crisis.

It has been a very long day and I am glad that I am finishing up my work before it gets much later.  I had to be up and out early this morning in order to help my mother with purchasing a car, as well as having some important appointments for myself later in the day. Then, in the late afternoon, I got a call from brother, who is out of town, wondering if I was available because our mother needed some help with a problem on her computer.  I went to help and found out that he hadn't told her I was coming, so she got kind of annoyed about it all, though I was able to help her out with the actual problem.  I think she appreciated my assistance, but she was pretty upset in general and called my brother back to yell at him for how he had treated her.  I felt as if she did appreciate the help, at least.  Anyhow, it was a busy day, but now that I am done with my writing, I can, at last, get a bit of rest.

The Expectation I do not know what it will be, or what is coming. I know you are expecting change and I expect it, too. We anticipate the same outcomes, but not in the same way. I know you will be glad. It is clear this is wanted. I am not certain what it will do besides reduce me even more. It will be one more way I am not enough, have not done what is needed, what is wanted, what I would if I were  that better man who you thought I would become.

Last night I took a break from working on my ongoing non-fiction project to do some other work.  I was sort of wondering if it was time to really just put that piece aside, at least in terms of the writing itself.  I've said this before, but I know I need to start working on editing and revising and organizing the ideas.  Somehow, though, I find that each time I begin to step in that direction something else appears in front of me that is so clearly relevant, I cannot help but rush back in.  The current topic is one that I need to address, as it is very much directly relevant to the overall subject matter, but I know that in order to discuss it I am going to need to get some more research done.  I was able to get a bit of preliminary reading on the topic done tonight and it just convinces me that it may be a bit of work to come up with some truly reliable and thorough resources for this.

Dangers of New Data There is some complexity to it, a connection that exists which brings in new elements, which alters the parameters. It would be nice to find it all fit together  into those boxes, the neat piles  already predicted, but that is not so. The truth is different and difficult, the details of what is real, of what  has been and is and is not, the interactions and overlaps, all of it is more.  It seemed clear, but there is so much more that must be understood. There was less to do before any of this, and now, everything is not what it was.

I think I am making a break-through in the story I am writing.  I've gotten a stronger sense of where to take it, though it is rather dark, if it keeps going the way it has progressed.  I do think their is something interesting coming to, at least in the moment, offer some relief and change the story up a bit.  I want to have a bit more fun within this world before I get to the finale.  I'm going to throw some crazy stuff in their just to find out what it does to the rest of the story, especially since the whole thing is already pretty bizarre to begin with.  It is already largely a story about people being chased by giant worms falling off an absurdly giant tree, so I think it can handle some more weirdness.  A part of me really just wants to have the rest of the tale be a description of the worms destroying everything as the main characters keep running, and that may be the general structure of what is to come, but even if that is the case, I want to put some other elements i

I Am Too Ignorant to Ask That Question I do not know enough to have thoughts that contradict what was there, but I felt a certain way and it might be that it was not true or not a response to anything true. I just felt it in the tactics, the way it was done. It might have been what was done was appropriate, but I noticed it, noticed manipulation through that method and it made we wonder at what was there, what was real behind those things. It gave me doubts, though I know I am not prepared to defend them.

Tonight is Kol Nidrei and I am missing my father a great deal.  He was not a very religious man, but he always spoke of tonight's service as the most beautiful and special part of the Jewish calendar.  Hearing the melody and prayer of the Kol Nidrei makes me think of him, of how much I wish he were still here. It is not as if I don't miss him at other times.  On any given day, for any reason or none, I can find myself thinking of him, crying yet again.  There is something specific, though, in the way I feel tonight, in the particular shade of grief.  I will not say it is anything worse or more potent, but there is a way in which it strikes me, a combination of loss and a sense of the sacred.  Kol Nidrei is largely about being released from certain obligations of the past, and Yom Kippur, as a whole, is about moving into the new year without the sins of the previous one.  They are ancient rituals which help anchor me to a cultural identity and which are all about moving forward

Too Late Now, you act as if you want to give support, you who made certain the foundation upon which I stood was destroyed beneath me.

I keep poring more and more into this prose piece and wondering if it is going too far.  I don't think that I am, for the most part, but I am also certain that their are many people who will want to reject what I am saying outright, and others who just won't recognize it no matter how true it might be.  I believe that is largely inevitable, but I still worry about it.  I want to believe that the work I am doing is powerful and convincing.  I am not convinced that what I am saying is important and that it matters, and I want the work to be convincing.  I think that some of it is very powerful, but I also look at it and wonder if some the arguments will come across as flimsy or desperate, even when it seems fairly obvious to me that I am pointing out something substantive and real.  I suppose that is the nature of this kind of work, at times, but even knowing that is the case does not make it any easier to deal with these questions.

"Does It Bother You," She Asks I say that I do not know if it bothers me, and right now I do not need to know, can think of it as long off and away, though she is probably right and it will come sooner, will come so quick we don't have time to think on it later, must prepare and know what it will be, but I do not want to know, or do not want to need to know, do not want to admit what I already know about my feelings.

The story is becoming more interesting as I keep working on it, though I am still not at all certain where it is really going or how it will develop.  At present, I am just allowing it to unfold.  I do have a sort of sense about certain themes, maybe, though none of it is anything all that concrete, and much of it could just be my response to what I have already written, just speculating and considering where it might lead.  It is fun to just allow it to come together, though I do worry about the plot reaching a resolution that is sensible and satisfying; I want to trust the process/  A number of years ago, I recall reading a book on improv comedy in which the author discussed how a series of sketches would often connect into something larger in unexpected ways.  No one was organizing the work, but everyone was collaborating and doing their part, and this created the conditions for something special to just emerge.  Though I am doing this work all on my own, I think that it is not all

I Do Not Know What He Will Do If he will do anything. I do not think we will know until it is done, maybe not then, maybe not until far later. It may be he has done it. He said he would, spoke of it as important, as something that mattered which he wanted to follow through on. I do not think it was untrue, but even so, I do not trust anything he says even knowing it is not a lie. It is hard for him to keep track of the world, of events and people, of where and what and who and why.

I keep intending to print out the piece I am working on, but I don't have a printer at home right now, so I need to do it at my Mother's house.  It is a very long piece, and I think it might bother her if I used up her paper and ink for my document.  That shouldn't stop me, of course.  I know that I can go to the print shop down the street, for example, but I just keep forgetting to actually do it.  I think it is, in part, that I am kind of afraid.  I know that printing it is a necessary step towards getting the essay organized and completed.  I think a part of me may be kind of feeling a bit attached to the process on this piece.  I started it as a way to get myself working on some non-fiction prose and it has been the focus of that effort for some time now.  I do wonder what I will write next if I actually stop adding to this essay and focus on getting it finalized.  I don't want to put aside writing non-fiction prose at the moment, even as I am working on other types

He Asks Me and I give no good answer, am reticent, evasive, but you decide to tell him what you think is what I mean, what is true, what I wouldn't say, what is not a meaning I would intend. Your words reflect what you think of me, what you notice but do not understand. It is not that they are untrue, but they are only about a surface. Besides, it is not even that: I was answering in my own way. I have a right to say and mean my own answers.  They are mine as the question was for me, too. Your words took from me. That you thought you could clarify what I was not saying is wrong, that you believed it your place is something more and worse.