Blush: It's not just a description for box wine anymore

So I have been thinking about what the relative threshold for embarassment in my life might be. Just when I think I can't do anything sillier, more astoundingly/awesomely dorky, unintentionally insensitive, or unforgivably self-centered, I top myself.

Always reaching for the brass ring, that one. Must be a gift.

I don't blush about my misdeeds, though they do come rushing back to me at various moments and force me to squinch my eyes in a feeble attempt to physically banish my entirely mental apparitions. Not sure that it works, but it certainly is putting me in the market for some Creme de la Mer or some such concoction.

I am not entirely sure how to banish these mysterious phantoms of my past actions, endeavors, and/or omissions. I could write about them, but, as of late, I have become troubled as to how I am perceived by my audience, known and unknown. Then again, it is a little late for being embarassed now. I have been hanging dirty laundry out to dry here for well over a year. There really is no going back. And truth be told, there isn't anything all that much more exciting that I don't post here (maybe that is the most embarassing admission of all).

What has been worrying me as of late and which I am getting to in my roundabout way is the spouting off about malaise and general unhappiness. To what end? Is it helpful? It does create a certain immediate sense of relief. I find it constructive in some ways, tiresome in others. It is your patience and your level of fatigue, gentle reader, however, that I am concerned about.

I realize that if I actually fancy myself a scrivener, I ought not be knocking on the proverbial "third wall" and just proceed apace. But I worry. It can be heavy. It can be repetitive. It can simply be galling. And that is all not pleasant. At all.

As this is my blog, I realize it is for my spoutings and inanities and kvetching and rantings and notations (or at least a running tally of my neuroses) - to do any less than semi-organized stream of consciousness ("like herding cats") would be disingenuous, I suppose. It would definitely be boring (more boring?)

For now, in an effort at finding a comfort zone (and because I have to get back to work) I am settling on the concept that my blog runs the way the 4th and 5th seasons of the X-Files did: You had the "mythology" episodes and the stand-alone episodes. Watched them all religiously. Enjoyed them. But in retrospect and syndication, I realized it is the standalone episodes, the quirky and especially weird ones that really kept me coming back.

So I humbly ask you to hang in there with me. Working towards additional standalone episodes. Though I will never be able to shake them entirely, the mythology ones are just too dreary.