(*) My blog is crap, I know

So, my blog is crap, that's alright - I already know! But - I don't care if it's crap or not. It's just a space to rant and let off some smoke, you know? It doesn't come out pretty, literate, spell-checked, or even well spoken or even neccesarily thought-through. It's not meant to be 'literature'. Tough $#it! It's my little space, and that's fine with me. It's a place where I'm comfortable to take my shoes and socks off and rub them relaxingly into the carpet. It's messy, but it's homey too.

It's like I said the other day... this is like standing in the corner of a really large paddock in the middle of nowhere and screaming your lungs out, because unless someone happens to just casually stroll by (which is highly unlikely), it's not gonna hurt, affect or offend anyone. So - there! I like that analogy.

Some blogs are awesome. Cleverly written, well thought out, planned and implemented. Informative, insightful, illuminating. That's wonderful - and I congratulate them. This blog is just a place to air out my washing. Sometimes the sox are dirty and smelly. Sometimes the shirts are freshly ironed and neatly hung away. Sometimes it's too wet to hang out the washing, or perhaps it's too hot to face the sunlight without a pith-helmet. That's fine. I'm comfortable with it. I don't do this to please others. It's for me. If someone doesn't like the way I write or the format or whatever (the vibe, Mabo, the constitution...), that's fine with me. Go for it. I know this will not last forever, nor will it be kept for posterity. One day I'll be dead and all these words will be quite meaningless, because they are grounded in who I am, and at this point in time I am alive and a part of this place in which we journey. In a way i wish they could be kept for my boys for the future, for when they are 40, and might be able to glean an insight into why their dad was the way he was. sad. Unhappy. miserable. lonely. but so deeply in love and committed to being their dad that it hurts him every single second to be apart from them. and every day I have to keep living in that pain, unable to do anything to change it. I know my boys love me, but they don't know (really) how much their dad loves them in the whole totality of his being. Of course I tell them - every single time I see them or talk to them on the phone. But the bigger picture is that as I'm seperate from their day-to-day reality, i am just an exttra part of their lives, rather than an integral factor of it with them. And that hurts - that's the awareness I carry about with me every single day. And there is not a single day that passes without me thinking of my boys - where they are, what they're doing, who they're with, how their feeling, what they're thinking... if there's a supposed god-shaped hole in my life, it's not 'god', it's being serarated from my own children.

Oooooh... this is turning into a 3.45am essay, isn't it?! pmsl!

Anyway, that's what this blog is about, in part. It's a place to stand and cry out - sometimes that cry is happy, or joyous, sometimes sad, sometimes pathetic, sometimes quite loopy and absurd - it's quite alright, because they are all aspects of the one me. A whole made of many parts. A montage - a collection of differeing images that are shaped into one interwoven image.

Rest easy. Have a good nights' rest. Sleep and awake refreshed, enthused and motivated to take on the new day and kick its' arse!

Cyalayta
Mal :o)