After a whole hell of a heap of playing around with this damned blog, and trying to get a focal point, I think that I have figured out what’s caused my writer’s block for the last, oh, twelve years now. Or maybe I’ve just found a scapegoat; I’m really not sure.

Now obviously my writing, or chicken scratches, however you prefer to see it, has suffered a tremendous deal, and it’s going to take me a little bit to get back into typing and word usage to the point that what I’m trying to communicate won’t read disjointed and stiff, so you’re going to have to bear with me on that point, as well as a few others.

I just stopped talking to people for a long, long time even to the point of not writing e-mails, letters, phone calls or instant messaging, apart from the occasional how you doing missive between old friends. I still do not feel proper using facebook or myspace for communication, no matter how friendly or “cool” they try and make them (I’m mainly using my accounts on those services to keep track of people so I don’t lose them).

I still work in the same place I worked at nearly five years ago, and I still work in the same position with the same pay and almost the same responsibilities, but my life could not be more different now than when I started there, though according to some people I never change, never age and never disappoint. I can’t really say the same for a good many of the people that I know, but that is human destiny to evolve and change and it’s a beautiful, sometimes ironic, thing to behold.

For starters, though I am somewhat leery to publicly say it, I think that I am in the beginning phases of rediscovering the faith that I watched go running screaming over the hills and into the woods as a young boy, my soul and psyche long tainted with the breath of inner decay. I don’t mean that to sound overly dramatic or “Check please!” in any way, rather it’s just an approximate sizing up of the situation I’m currently finding myself in.

Sometimes I sit back and think about how I always had a project going when I was in my teens and early twenties, and I always was writing something or sketching something out, which is nothing like these days. My wife came across an old drawing I had done while we were cleaning out some boxes while getting ready to move and she inquired where I’d gotten that from. When I replied it was something I’d done, she laughed and asked me again where I’d really gotten it from. About that time I began to wonder what had happened to the boy who kept notebooks with entire movescripts (camera angles included) in notebooks, and who always looked at things in the non-conventional way.

It reminds me of an article I read once written by a teacher who said for Father’s Day, she asked her 3rd grade class what their Daddy did for a job. Upon their answers, she then asked them what their Daddys had wanted to do for a job when they were their age. Suprisingly, none of the children could answer this question, and thus the teacher assigned its answer as homework to go home and ask their fathers. I thought it was a pretty touching thing that a teacher, hell any woman, would think of a guy in such a way past whatever he is standing before them. I’ll bet that the kids in question had some very suprised faces later that evening after getting home and chatting up dad.

I myself have two boys, ages two and four and a half months old, and the differences between them are absolutely astounding. I cannot even begin to see my oldest son at my youngest son’s age some days, as it seems like it was in another lifetime, and a million years away from the here and now. My oldest is a true Daddy’s Boy, mostly since I did the Mister Mom thing in the daytime while my wife worked, after I had worked all night long, when he was a baby. My wife currently does not work anymore, and my youngest is so dependant on her being around for his happiness that whenever she gets out of his sight, or puts him down, he goes into absolute hysterics. And of course, while he very much enjoys Daddy talking to him, he is not so fond of me actually holding him, unless he simply needs a break from Mom.

Sometimes I wonder what they’re going to think of me when they are older, especially if I’m not around. It would be so easy for them to resent my not being there, or for some assholes to tell them I was an asshole too, and I never did anything for them. Any thoughts like that make me think of my own Dad, who I always wonder deep inside if he just got a bad rap from people, but then I hear a story from someone like my Mom about how he set my sister up with a car from a shady car lot he was friends with, and made money off of the transaction, even though she got the vehicle repoed soon as the first payment was three days late. I’m not sure what else I can add to that that would add to or detract from, the sheer wowness of that blurb.

But anyways, it is now around eleven thirty in the morning, and I have been up since around noon the previous day. The wife went off today to her grandma’s house, and I had to stay up to watch the kids while she got ready, after working until 6am, so I think I am finally starting to feel the fact that I have been up around twenty-four hours at this point, so I believe I’m going to go to bed now.

I am going to try to begin adding new content to the blog now, but a good deal less pictures and video and other flashy bullshit, and a good deal more of what I really need to be doing right now, I feel, and that is writing, just writing about anything and everything.

Ciao