Hello

Countdown, 4,3,2,1.........

       I felt the need to make a special trip to write in my journal. It's been sitting alittle heavy on the mind, my last entry. In my moments of uncontrolled balance, I'm afraid I went beyond my original choice of exposure and simply wept onto my blank pages.

       I have a private journal that is usually reserved just for such unabated, unleashing and outpouring. But whether subconsciously or intentional, when it came to copy and pasting (I religiously use your method Paul and haven't lost an entry since, thank you again) onto either journal, I went public. Exposure in light.

       The comments/encouragment I received went beyond the realm of profound and I found great solace in them. During a time when mum is the word, a mute I've become to the reality of my 3-D dimension, the written word became the comfort I attached too. It was the Kleenex to wipe my tears, the thoughts to shake me up, the motivation to keep going. Virtually nameless, faceless people with hearts of gold, thoughts of wisdom and beautiful words to adhere too.

Thank you.
Is the simplest way of saying exactly what I mean to express.     

       I do have another to thank. One person in a special light. But that will have to wait for another day. A ray of sun, did indeed shine on my face, even for just a few days. It felt every bit of warm, as I had thought it would. Thank You.

       I believe I went public with that entry, because I, the human cyborg, did indeed actually need assurance and support. So for shameless, selfish reasons, I opened a door and gave a sincere peek around during a much troubled time. You know what, it felt good to do that, alittle odd, very much uncomfortable, but good.

       The train has derailed. This is how I simply explained my silence to a friend who kept pushing the envelope with me today. During the worst of times, I find I do the worst of extremes, which is silence.
      
        Of course I see the rational sense in speaking whats troubling you, confessing all your worries and confusions. Rational behavior for most, I have to believe this based on the quota of calls I get monthly from troubled friends and family.

       For me it's always been different. The harder things become, the more I feel this tightening of the throat, my vocal cords perform a sort of paralyzation and silent I become. It can be an instant constriction, or a gradual one. Debilitating it becomes.

       I have to believe this is where my writing mind takes over. During these moments of time, I can't make a noise to scare off a mouse, but I can write as loud as I want. The words just creep out, steady as she goes, chugging along like the train I portray to the world.  

       The 3-D train may have derailed, but the writing train is still here, moving along pretty fast if I might add. My hand is cramped from the archaic writing I performed last week during my sabbatical. It was good. Therapy at it's finest the good doctor Rebecca decided.

       I should be coming soon to a Journal near you, via my new Sony Viao laptop, it's supposed to be to me on Weds. <Insert alittle woohoo, first happy dance in awhile>

I just felt the need to say hello, how are you, and of course............Thank You