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You know it’s a bad sign when you go to log into your wordpress account and can’t remember your password, it’s been so long since you wrote up a blog entry.

I’m still not sure I’m back–that I can maintain this thing, but it’s been liberating, this freeing myself from feeling obligated to write here. Sometimes I think it’s a minor miracle when I reach the end of the week and realize I wrote FIVE columns for the Family Education site.  Sometimes I stare at the screen and think I can’t possibly have anything to say, yet the switch clicks on and I write, and end up sounding more or less coherent, I think.

Perhaps the day will come when I won’t have anything to say, and the thought of that looms large in my head. I think anyone who writes, or paints, or is an artist whether through photography or sculpture or architecture, lives in fear of the day the creative juices will dry up. I know my grandfather mourned this for many years before he passed away. When he stopped painting he surrounded himself with his old paintings and talked about them every day. Yet I’m sure he was haunted by the loss of his ability to paint. This must have eaten away at him, like a sore, or a gnawing bone pain.

Anyway, I’ll wait and see what I can turn out in the coming weeks. I’m still dabbling with my novel-in-progress. Last night I dreamt it was finished, yet it’s nowhere near that. Of course I also dreamt that tiny golden fish were swimming around in the air in front of me, and that I couldn’t catch them, so I’m not sure I’d put much stock in any of my dreams at this point.


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