Watch the Weather Change

It's been a while since I've posted in this blog. From the history, it seems that I haven't written in this dusty thing since May. Sorry about that, to those of you that are following.

A lot has been going on for me, lately. I find myself facing several paths in life, and I'm not quite sure where to go. I pray and pray, and yet the answer has still not been made clear to me. I'm not quite sure what it is that I'm supposed to be doing right now, at this very moment.

I suppose that's a lot of people, though.

The choices I find myself with are all pretty big risks. Two of them involve packing up and shipping off to places unknown, where I will have very little support beyond faith in friends. History has shown me that this isn't always the wisest of decisions, and yet... I can't help but shake the feeling that perhaps I should at least try.

Then again, I can stay here in Maryland and make a solid attempt at putting this apparent writing ability of mine to use. The work that I've been doing on my novel has been, admittedly, non-existent of late. I can't seem to find the motivation to write in this blog, much less working on something that could make my worries disappear.

My feelings, as always, shall remain my own. I'm not quite sure how to express myself beyond what I have already said.

This brings me to the point of this particular rambling.

This has been a good fall, so far. The weather is that perfect, crisp autumn weather that we can typically only read about in books. It is that perfect time of the year where the days are cool, yet comfortable, and the nights have the kind of chill that makes one want to sit on the couch, curled up with either a good book or a loved one, huddling together for warmth. It is a time for relaxation, a time for love, and, above all, a time for reflection within.

As much as I would love to go into some deep, somewhat philosophical, entirely full-of-crap posting, I'm afraid that I just can't muster that. I just tried, and it all came out as absolute twaddle. Hell, as I'm writing this, it's 4:30 in the morning. This doesn't leave much room for deep thought. While the previous paragraph - and even the posting title - lead one to think that perhaps what I have to say this morning is worthwhile, I assure you all that it is not. My brain is simply too full of garbage to allow sleep, and so I sit here and babble it all out into a digital journal that some read, but goes rather largely ignored.

This must be what the writers of the New Yorker feel like.