Ms-M has a very funny and engaging diary and has somehow seen fit to include me on her list - thank you. And to all of you that make it a point to read this, may your days be long and prosperous.

I like to start out a morning with a blessing of sorts.

Several of you are true writers who ought to be out publishing stuff rather than on here chasing dragons....There, a blessing and an admonition both!

A lot of time I sit here and ponder about just how far to take this thing, subject matter wise. There are wholely private concerns which I won't ever write about. There are things which occur in the daily grind which are just too difficult to transcribe accurately, mostly involving wildly funny visual aerobics by corporate partner Stu or others. Then there are the events where I actually stop myself and say, "What a good entry that would make!", and promptly forget about them when it comes time to actually type. The curse of the feeble minded.

Some of the folks on this forum, and I'm talking about those past the age of consent now, seem to have no difficulty just letting 'er rip, telling about the contents of various bowels movements employed by their cat, or their job and how it is time, yes very nearly time to bring in the AK-47 and demonstrate the new efficiancy program with live ammo. Or their feelings. Their truthful and obviously gut wrenching, heartfelt tales of life and love. Some are just as difficult to read as they evidently were to write. There is a lot of pain out there, and I read that pain hoping to at least see a glimmer of hope in their words.

I lead a very funny life which I would not trade for, well, almost anything. I am surrounded by generally supportive people, and circumstances have been good to me. It's a verbose way of saying I'm lucky.

Even with that (which was a long intro which may not lead to anything!), there is something hapening in my life right now that I'm debating whether to write about or not. It's a mystical, very personal type of thing. I call it mystical because I wake up in the morning wondering if it's real or not, and in the still moments of the evening I have these epiphany glimpses that it might indeed be true. Or vice versa. It chases and haunts me. It catches up to me when I stop during the day to take a breath.

You have a flash of a dream while sleeping and wake up so convinced that it happened that you've already assimilated it into your life, your memory. The long, drawn out dreams you eventually are able to argue yourself out of, because it becomes apparant that they are nothing more than Technicolor Productions versions of your sleep addled mind. It's those little slices of dream that sit on your shoulder and tug at your ear. Those are the mystic ones.

I think Van Morrison had a song about that.

Confused enough? Let's call this the entry where Outfoxed successfully attempted to be vague. Without being misleading. Yes.

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