In with the outro and out with the old!

So I've been thinking back the past few days on my discretion policy. The one I came up with, loosely, back when this thing was first going up.

I had the greatest intentions, really.

But you see, while there is a certain intimacy to be felt in the recounting of travels-what this blog originally set out to do-the bulk of the words are adjectives. Descriptions. Of Sounds. Smells. Puzzle pieces out of place. Me realizing that I am that missing piece. Soundtracks.

And while I have argued that these are the things that ground my memories of the EverythingElse-the thoughts, the feelings, the sharp inhalation of breath, the deep sighs and alltherestforwhichtherearenowords-and therefore worth the sharing, I think I have broken my own policy hear and trespassed into the world of Too Much Information. I have ventured far beyond descriptive adjectives of exterior and the safe distance they put between me, my thoughts, and the rest of the world.

In short: it's time for a revision of the discretion policy or at least reinforcement of it.

This blog has been the catalyst of a many great things. Like most great things, in typical opposition, there are disadvantages. The great things are too numerous to mention right now but I'll highlight the habit of writing in general, since most of the great things-as I see them-are derivations on that theme. This habit of writing has however, in some senses either handicapped me, aggravated a pre-existing handicapped condition, or made me aware of the existence of said handicap (the latter also having the potential for greatness if I use that knowledge to my advantage). Now I bet you're wondering what that handicap is, now.

Well, even if you're not, too bad. I'm telling you anyway.

The current diagnosis:
The patient suffers from an increased inability to process, organize, and express observations and feeling without the use of the written (or typed) word.

Symptoms are: Stuttering. Dyslexic speech. Avoidance of eye contact. Excessive use of hand gestures (without any formal training in sign language). Speaking in monotones due to the lack of visual punctuation marks while speaking (especially emoticons). Repeated conversations. Notebooks filled with urgent and really serious cheesy crap that should probably be burned.

(As a side note, today I was chatting with a friend who reiterated "how smart" I was, speaking of the overactive powers of my brain. Now, it seems like I've been getting that a lot lately. And can I just say that I'm kind of sick of it! Please don't take this the wrong way, I really am not that cocky. And I know it sounds that way. It's just that hearing this kind of thing adds and incredible amount of pressure you know: trying how to figure out how to not be intimidating when I don't believe that I am in the first place. Not to mention the fact that, no offense, in my mind really smart people are capable of more than what I am currently in the middle of. And shouldn't really smart people be able to learn more languages? Write chronologically and to the point? Form complete sentences without leaving out 5 or 6 words? Figure out how to get along with people? How to make their own decisions? How to process information without first counseling with at least 4 people and making them all hear the same sad circular stories and being paralyzed without their advice and yet refusing to take it most of the time anyway? I think people confuse smart with selfish some of the time. I also think I have really smart, really awesome, and really patient friends to whom I'm super grateful. But let me add here that the only reason I so much as remotely believe (which also leaves plenty of room for a huge and I mean mega amount of disbelief) that I am anything above average is the above list. Because I think that sometimes, really smart people end up being too smart to function. And as you can see, I have some work to do in the functionality department. So please, let's let that be the end of that. Everyone seems to mention this in worried overtones. And, well. Worry is like the germs on the mostly unwashed hands of my preschoolers. And by that I mean, catching.)


This blog has become the depository of thoughts. It embodies my efforts to organize them. And the line between therapeutic writing, entertaining writing, ambiguous writing (my infamous MonstrousLiar posts), and writing about the.things.that.really.matter has gotten rather blurred, I must say.

So, thanks to some inspiring words yesterday in Institute, I'm going to take the Great out of this blog and apply it to two other places. Namely, two other journals. Whether these journals will be electronic or not remains to be seen. They may be making the occasional cameo as MonstrousLiar posts (to further endorse Google; tease you; and validate myself that people actually do care about the idiosyncrasies which are so particular to me). But they may not, either. The point is, this here is the great divorce. From now on efforts to organize thoughts particular to my situation will be kept in one journal. Thoughts, feelings, lessons learned and all the rest will be kept in another. You know, the important stuff.

And the EverythingElse. Well, that is what can go on here.

And now I can justify journal shopping. Joy of JOYS!