why justthissideofmadness...

so now i'm cheating off my sister in titling this particular post (see goshohemlock.typepad.com), but it does seem relevant, even necessary, to begin by explaining the title of my blog. can you believe i have a blog? that's like actually taking a step forward, putting me dangerously close to an especially daunting precipice where i might have to work toward accomplishing one of my goals. but anyway, while working on my current (and might i add "first") book, while digging through my three rubbermaid containers that house (originally i wrote "contain" but thought that word sucked given the noun) everything of any value i've produced in life, i came across one of my previous attempts to write a book. because of its length, this one may have kept me captive for more than one night of epiphanous-analytical-cathartic-exhaustive writing, but the important thing is, its discovery prompted me to create and name this blog. and here we are. and here it is:

foreward:

i remember being told countless times as a child that if i were ever to get lost, i should stay right where i was and wait for someone to come find me. as i look back, trying desperately to remember a time that i actually was lost as a child, i am fascinated by the irony that now seems so apparent. first, i don't believe that i ever realized i was "lost" until i had been "found," and it was only then that i was overwhelmed by fear. second, was it really me who was lost, or was it whomever was responsible for me at that particular time? i may be putting way too much thought into this, which would not be unusual for me, but it seems to me that at that point in my life, i was not, in fact, lost--they had simply lost the ability to find me.

so, for the past several years (if not my entire adult life), more lost than i have ever been, i have been doing just that. waiting to be found. but by whom, or what? another lost individual who is no more equipped than i to navigate the labyrinth of the reality of a life with more questions than answers and more irony than justice? the hard conclusion that no matter how it should be, it isn't, and that the more i struggle against the binds of mediocrity and resignation the less likely my escape?

with nothing to do but wait, i will write about my experiences while lost. maybe then, assuming i am ever found, i will have an accurate description of the demons who seduced me into following them into these bleak recesses.

chapter 1:

why do i find it so difficult to put my thoughts, feelings, and fears on paper? is it because i am truly a subconscious masochist worried that by performing this exercise i run the risk of working things out and, therefore, bringing an end to my suffering? or is it for fear that recording them will somehow seal my fate to a life of agonizing over analysis and critical discontent? either way, if i cannot overcome my compulsion to repress, i make myself a prisoner, confined to a cell of my own making, at the mercy of an unforgivable authority--myself.

i suppose it must be true that we are our own worst enemies. maybe if i just continue to write about why it is i may not be able to do so, i can trick my psyche into believing that it is involved in another harmless activity that will never come to fruition. i wonder. even as my hand struggles furiously to keep pen to paper - a willing scribe - writing, writing, writing thoughts as they come, words as they disrobe, my mind - oh, and it is a strong one - demands that its authority be restored. who will triumph remains to be seen - heart? head? need...fear?

each day, thousands of ideas emerge triumphantly at the surface, gasping for air and grasping for anything that will keep them afloat, but inevitably they are forced back into the recesses of my mind, swallowed by the tides of indifference.

somewhere between denial and irony, i realize how easy it would be to slip from the ordinary side of madness into multiple personality disorder or some other yet unclassified state of severe psychological affliction that seems complex in origin yet may be as simple as the mind's inability to continue to distinguish between the extreme contradictions that exist within every individual.

wow! doesn't that sound promising and uplifting?