Because I do not want my Live Journal to wash away due to neglect, I am unlocking the gate and opening the door and exhaling my blank thoughts into the white space.

If this were a movie, I'd be pacing, ripping papers and tossing them into a trash basket. I don't smoke but an actress playing me might want to take a drag and then stub the end into an ashtray. She might even look out the window behind my desk and stare into space. An appropriate score would gently accompany this montage of frustration. I think it might be a song without words because that's what I am right now. (All Celine Dion-wannabes need not apply for the job!) The Titanic sinking, empty of ideas and rowboats and the Captain is going down with the ship!

(Have I ever mentioned my fear of black water at night?)

Was it legend or reality that the orchestra continued to play as all hope was lost for the passengers of that unsinkable vessel?

I am the music and I am the musicians, playing for time while the water rises and my dreams cling to the deck.

And yet, fade to black. Cut. Clear the set. Nightmare Over. Here I am to say while it would be easy to let go and find something else to do, like professional wrestling or data entry or money laundering, I am here, clinging to the iceberg (with my fanciful buddies Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet) and, courtesy of Maya Angelou, "still I rise" to say:

Hope Floats! I won't let go. I can't let go!



Does it always have to be about something? Can words just be offered As Is, like an irregular shirt or pillow case? None of the above is supposed to make sense; if it does, I am in more trouble than I thought!