Lately I've been avoiding this blog.  My writing has not completely ceased (for it helps me through the day) but now I hold it hostage in my journal.  Words stay on private pages.  Pages where I feel free.  Pages where I am safe.  On these white pages vulnerability is commonplace.  Tears are welcomed.  Fears are faced.  Joy is embraced.  Anger is accepted.  And words are not judged.  Journals are my safe place.  And although I recognize that the role of this blog is not to be a private journal, I do want it to be a place where I feel safe.  I don't want it to be surrounded by feelings of obligation and fear, but rather honesty and expression.  I know it may seem that blogging is more difficult for me than most, and that's because, well I think it is.  In this life I regularly allow fear to guide my steps and dictate my path.  This blog represents an attempted rebellion against fear.  Therefore these little chats where I remind myself  simply to be honest and write will likely continue to occur.  So bear with me.

In an attempt to put my new resolve into action (before it dissolves) here is a journal excerpt:  

Friday.  September 12, 2008.

Fashion Collages.

Creating fashion collages.

Ripping the pages of magazines.  Tearing out my favorite outfits, items, accessories and excerpts. 

Placing them on the pages of my journal in a visually pleasing way.  Taping them into place.

Meaningless.

I leave tomorrow on a new journey.  A journey whose designated purpose is to search.  To search the meaningful depths of life, humanity and this small world.  To ask all of the crucial yet annoyingly cliche sounding questions that accompany this purpose.  My hope was for this to be a time released from the bondages of routine every day life.  Free from materialism, consumerism, technology and pop culture.

So how do I prepare?

Fashion Collages.

This new past time seems to have been inspired by a current obsession with packing.

I am convinced that I need new things to prepare for this journey.  I cannot, must not, simply transfer a portion of  my overflowing closet into a suitcase.  I must purchase, collect, acquire and stockpile new clothing.

Meaningless.

So why have I become absorbed with the task of packing and drowning myself in meaningless fashion collages?  Well. Two reasons.  A)  This is simply what I do.  Packing has always been and will likely continue to be quite an ordeal for me.  More interestingly, there is B)  Packing is all I can control at this moment.  It is all I can plan for.  It is all I have.

I am walking in the dark here.  I have no idea what I am stepping into.  As I reassure others with shallow words, "I'm excited." and "It will be good." and "I'm looking forward to it."  My real thoughts flutter in a different fashion, "What am I doing?"  and "What if I hate it." and "Oh geez.  Mistake."  I don't know what to expect, and therefore in many ways I am at a loss as to how to prepare.  So I busy myself with what I can command:  the contents of my suitcase.  I most certainly can plan, prepare and manipulate my attire for the next 3 months.  This I can shape.  And so I have.  With an intensity that should surely be reserved for things of greater significance. 

Fashion Collages. 

As I prepare for a time of internal reflection and meditation, I become fixated on the external.

Oh so Meaningless.