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Here I am again after 9 months of silence.  I expect that those who were following this blog in years past have long since moved along to far more dynamic and interesting blogs… which is just fine with me.  I think I like it best when this blog is just sort of quiet and personal.  There for a while it seemed like I had quite a few regular readers.  I found myself writing more to what I imagined my readers wanted to see, rather than writing to my heart.  Put another way, I found myself writing for effect, trying to maximize the “hits” on my blog rather than simply getting my thoughts and feelings out in words.  As a life-long journaler, I feel best when the act of journaling is all about expressing my heart as clearly as I possibly can and nothing more.  After all, before I started journaling here on this blog 2 years ago, I did basically the same sort of stream-of-consciousness writing in notebooks from the age of 13.  I have piles and piles of notebooks stashed here and there with all the angst, drama and trauma of years past scratched and scrawled out.  Terrifying reading, really.  I much prefer the gratitude/appreciation based stuff I put out these days.  Life has gotten so very sweet in the past couple of years, and I love forming the delightful thoughts and feelings that are swirling around inside me into streams of words that build on and intensify those feelings.

These past 9 months have sort of been a break from my life of journaling, but not really.  I’ve still been writing long lists of things I feel grateful for everyday, and then I give those lists to my beloved wife Patty.  I’ve also been doing lots and lots of focus wheels, sweet little barely structured word-ballets all about the things I love most about being alive.  I give those to Patty too.  Patty puts all these gratitude lists and focus wheels into a box in chronological order; she calls them love letters… and she’s absolutely right. 

Still, I’m craving a more prosy approach to journaling once again.  And I love and appreciate all that came before in this blog, so I’m going to leave it all up and simply pick up where I left off with no real effort towards trying to maintain a theme.  I am my own theme.

I’m really not an exhibitionist.  Although I will admit that as a woman in love with a woman I do enjoy shouting to the void of the sub-ether for any who may hear (or read, as the case may be) that my love is pure and it burns white-hot.  Perhaps I am an exhibitionist after all.  I mean, I have no shame when it comes to public displays of affection.  I’m not one to kiss, caress and hold hands simply for the shock value of 2 girly-girls in love, but neither do I censor or unduly restrain my affectionate impulses in order to preserve the small-minded ideals of prudes and bigots.  Don’t hate me because I’m a cuddle-bug… I’m just built this way.  I mean, I would never ask a heterosexual couple to curb their affection for my sake; I ask for no more and no less as an affection-oriented lesbian in love.

That’s all I have to say about that.

Seriously, I have nothing much to say.  But, boy, can I say nothing with a whole lot of words.

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