Wednesday, September 11, 2002

CONSOLIDATION


Today marks the one year anniversary of the terrorist attacks on our country, now always an forever referred to as 911 (nine eleven). A lot has happened in that year, for me personally, and for our nation. But that is not what I want to talk about today. Trust me, you will hear enough through the media about 911 this, or 911 that. No one really needs my opinion, as most everyone would likely have one of their own, and their own story to tell. Suffice to say, as an American, I am proud of the men and women that gave their lives in the performance of their duties, and of the courage of the normal folk that survived. I was lucky. I lost no one that I am aware of in the attacks or the aftermath. But it does not mean I was not affected. On some level, I think we all were. All I could do then was cry, pray, and stare at the television in disbelief and horror. All I can do now, perhaps all any of us can do, is continue praying for our country, the families of the victims, for our children, and even the enemy. But mostly, we can always remember America's darkest hour.

On to other things. "Why", you may ask, " an online journal?" And the answer is not as simple as the question. Truthfully, it is not that I believe I have so much to say, or that what I do have to say is so important. But it is important to me. I have dreams of being a writer, and have journaled for many years. It is hard for me to write on paper these days... I have many nice leather bound journals, and a plethora of fine writing instruments with which to write. But more times than not, when I do remember to sit down and write, I end up staring at a blank page for hours. Then I am not satisfied with what I wrote, or perhaps that I accidentally used a blue pen instead of a black one. It is stupid to be so picky, I realize that of course, but it is something about me I seem unable to change. It is one of the traits that drives my poor wife nuts.

My need to write might be simple vanity, in that I like to hear the sound of my own voice. It is true, of course, but I think there is more to it than that. I believe that when I write, I actually tap into a resource deep within my soul that for the most part is buried in my daily life. Created by pain, anger, frustration, heartache, and my inability to deal with strong emotions, I believe that all of my experienced have been bottled up in this emotional vault. When I write, somehow, and I am not sure I can explain this, I believe I tap into this emotional vault. What I get out of it seems to be release, and resolution, and healing. Perhaps, and this is my hope, when you read my writing, you will gain from it, relate to it, and perhaps even enjoy what you read.

My journals have been titled "Life, Love, and Understanding" for the past decade or so. Mostly because I wrote about life and love...... the understanding comes later. I thought the title was a bit saccarin, so for this online journal, Life 101 seemed much more appropriate. So.... all that said... Welcome to Life 101. I hope you enjoy my ramblings, and that you will return to read future entries. A warning though..... I know me.... it will not be everyday.

Please feel free to share your thoughts with me either via email, or in the guestbook I will install on this page as soon as I figure out how. I will attempt to reply to all emails.

Saturday, August 03, 2002


Like so many journals I have begun, like so many projects still unfinished, like so many things I have begun before, this blog reflects yet another failure in my growing list of failures. I am not exceptional, though I would like you to believe that I am. I am not special except to a few people. In fact, in most things I say and do, I am quite unremarkable. Quite mundane, even boring, there are no noteworthy events in my life that would set me apart from anyone else. A hypothetical existence, laced with hyperbole and lies. So much now that I scarcely know myself anymore.

Sad, isn't it? A lifetime reduced in mere sentences, stripped completely of all accomplishments, achievements, and awards. Left wholly without substance or form, my life is a wisp of vapor.... Pardon me, Passing through.....

Monday, March 11, 2002




A year. it has been a fucking year. Hell, that was a lifetime ago. Two pc's ago, and a shitload of heartache. I am pleased that these blogs remain untouched here in cyberspace. Nice to see them again... but the drag is that no body likely read them, and isn't that, afterall, the point of these things?



I need to write.... really need to write.... about things I can tell no one. I haven't anyone to turn to.... who would I talk to? Who wouldn't betray my trust?