State of Obvious

Having an (almost) teenage daughter can be...quite an experience.  "I hope you have a kid just like you," so the saying goes.  Usually, you only hear this if you're a rough kid.  I was a rough kid - in some ways.  I gave my mom a pretty hard time.  And, if she wished for a kid that was 'just like me' to come along as payback - the parent gods smiled on that wish. Today (after a pretty tragical and frustrating encounter) Carly said: I just needed to get mad at somebody.  I don't know why. Well, if that doesn't sum up teenage angst, I don't know what does. It also kind of applies to adult angst.  Some days I just want to be mad at somebody and walk around stomping my feet.  Today I felt like that.  In between good things, though, so at least there's balance. And balance is tricky this days, too. It feels like the house is a wreck (it mostly isn't, but sort of is). It feels like I'm swimming in work and can't catch up (this o

Have you ever felt like there is something waiting there, just out of reach?  A thread that's unwinding faster than you can grab on to the end?  Like there is something just out of sight and if you turn your head at just the right time, you might finally see it? That's writing for me these days. Reviving ye old blog is an attempt to revive ye old writer, the one who lives somewhere deep down inside.  The writer in me ticks like a clock.  Most of the time I don't notice the sound.  It just IS. Tick tock. But, every now and then, the sound gets loud.  Almost deafening, almost drowning out everything else until I have to pay attention to the time. TICK TOCK. It's at that point that I get out the pencils or keyboards or notebooks and begin.  I read old stuff and marvel at the problems that riddle my lines.  I jot down notes or delete stuff that never came to fruition.  I try writing.  First blips, then sentences, then paragraphs, or outlines, or pages.  But,