The Jedi master commences to show his self mastery by 'simulating' crying like a baby.

Sleep would be good. After being up a day and a half, I finally went down like I should at somewhere after 19:00 but before 21:00. I then woke about 23:30. Oddly, I have a rare case of heartburn. As well, I feel all slept out. My systems are sluggish, but they are not sleep ready. I am guessing a sleep medication would be best. I just hate taking that stuff.

I have not been writing more on my story, but I do have a little bit left in reserve. I’ll be setting a portion out shortly. Focus just was not there earlier. Sorry about that. I have noticed that I am not alone in this, news and blogging have dried up. The heat, summer time blues, the high humidity doldrums, or what ever has taken it’s toll on traffic.

However, this slow up has given me time for reflection. The more I blog on my site and visit and comment on other sites, the more I realize I have a whole lot of nothing to say. Nothing I work hard at saying comes out meaning anything more that mundane obvious nothingness. There is no wisdom, no intricate intelligent offering, no literary technical genius. I am just happy when reading it later I do not seem too much of a fool, too emotional, or make too many errors regarding my English usage. Some of the earlier posts make me wonder if people think I should just be given a large dose of something, head gear, and locked in a padded room until I die or the world devolves to the secular liberalism that is Hitler, Stalin, and Hillary and just honestly euthanizes me. In a secular world, actually, that is correct.

I hope my writing and logic have improved. I cannot see it, honestly. I am working on a piece for this page, but it is not going to be a 10 minute write like the others. I am actually putting time and thought into it, when I can muster it. And yet, I have little hope that this piece will be anything greater than the rest. Oh, fewer errors, better cohesion, but there is much more to a truly good essay. There is a truth and a brilliance that catches one’s notice like that fine rare meal one awaits in hunger. I do not even think the reader needs to be brilliant, only relatively keen on English and awake. See, no matter how I twist, turn, push, and pull on those bits of logic, grammar, and vocabulary, it does not work. It is enjoyable, if frustrating.

What brought this up was a couple of comments I recently posted. One of these took me a long time to create. Now, it was today or last night, and in my over-exhaustive state, but upon reading it later, I could not believe it. It looked like I let a ten year old write it, if I might have edited a bit. *sigh* I can only wonder what people think when they read there or here. As I said, I have an idea of what they might suggest. I do not know how to deal with this, I guess, is where I am finally getting.

I really enjoy writing. And yet, I do not care to be shamed by my inability, perhaps my disability, at times. I enjoy reading peoples work, and commenting. Yet I so often hurt feelings, say too much, say it so blandly, plainly, or simply that it ends up meaning nothing, i.e. Oh, your lawn is overgrown? Maybe you could mow it. Bingo, I think someone is on the ball, eh? Stepping on toes, squashing the daisies, speaking in the plain terms of the simpleton, and really having nothing more to offer than my company seems to be unsettling to me. As I said, I am just not sure where to go with it. I guess, as others, I will have to tame my passions in this arena, dull my senses, and just create my own psychic thorazine.