The return

Spillage. 

Cathartic. 

One of the things I counsel couples about to be married about is "being committed to being married." They're going to be times that you do not like this person that you love. Therefore, you must be committed to being married or the marriage will not last. The same is true about writing. You must be committed to writing. I call this troubled ramblings because they are the ramblings of my troubled mind.

While I have not slowed down in writing, I have not been putting those here. I have a backlog of spillage in my notes. It may take me a little while to work them into some cohesive form for sharing, but bear with me and I will try to stay in touch.

Writing is cathartic. The ability to express myself and put that on paper or tablet or electronic writing is calming to my soul. Even when not in cohesive form, it helps me to simply get out of my mind. It has an unbelievably healing effect to assuage the hurt, or rage, or sorrow, to simply write a few ( okay, sometimes more than a few) words down and walk away, leaving the brunt of the damage there, to revisit in a less raw state. 

What you should read here will be the froth of the boil. You will see the vapor, safely away from the flame. In theory, that will be the case. I will warn you, however, sometimes the heat will commingle with the words and some of the scorch may come through. Sometimes the raw will refuse to be assuaged and will rear its head. Forewarned is forearmed. 

Feel free to comment or not. I don't even know if anyone reads these anymore, since the instant gratification of Facebook has arrived. I have a Facebook account, with which I peruse the surface life of my friends and play a few games. I add a poem or two here and there. It does not meet the level of here. There, they are snippets of our lives; sound bytes, if you will. (Most people only want sound bytes anyway; something to read quickly and react to even faster, without having to try to understand the emotional motivation behind the words.) If, or when, this becomes that, it will fade into the obscurity of that morass. Until then, these are my ramblings, troubled or otherwise. Welcome back. 

1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... 10 !  Ready or not, here I come...