Monday, September 29, 2008

The Wounded Flowers Were Dangling From the Vine.

I am hanging, dangling between one place and another, between almost there and almost gone. There is a slowly building fear that something unimaginable will occur, that some crazy thing will occur but I suppose that is true of life in general and is not necessarily specific to leaving home. But, it is also true that chances of all sorts of things are higher in a third world country. I have, once again, gone too long without writing. It is harder now for me to pull the things I need from my head and harder to put together thoughts and line them up next to each other in a cohesive fashion. It requires more patience and consideration than I have lately been granting to writing. All caught up in leaving and moving, I have neglected to closely analyze my thoughts in writing and instead I have tried to enjoy the here and now because it will be somewhere else soon. Perhaps there should be a more balanced idea of the two things.