BLEH.  Sometimes.  Not all the time.  Still sometimes.  My writing?  Yeah.  Not a fan.  Too predictable.  I say.  My style.  Too foofy.  I try to change.  To no avail.  It all comes out the same.  It all comes out the same.  Now, I believe the term is.  I’ve it heard it called. Correct me if I’m wrong.  But I’m not wrong.  What I have here is a love-hate relationship.

Currently, I’m on the hate-side of the relationship and am cringing at the prospect of pounding out another insipid entry; nevertheless, just because I sometimes don’t like my writing does not mean that I am going to stop because I know that these stirrings I’m feeling right now don’t want me to succeed…and their names are Doubt, Fear, and Insecurity.

Earlier this year, we had a mouse running around in our apartment, and against all impulses to name it Gus Gus and knit a slouchie beanie, we got snap traps instead.  We baited them with peanut butter and then waited and waited and waited some more.  “FINALLY!  Sweet victory!” I thought, as my roommate delivered the guess-what line.  Obviously, I guessed wrong, though, because not only was there no mouse on the traps, but there was also no peanut butter!  How he did that?  I don’t know, and I may or may not have been wildly impressed.  This mouse had to be the smartest mouse everrr.  A couple days later, I realized I had spoken too soon when I found out that the little guy met his match on one of the traps that didn’t have any bait.  Really?…Dumbest mouse everrr.

And with that, our little rodent friend was buried in the swirling and watery graveyard; still, though weeks behind us, there’s been something not quite right about the whole situation.  Call it suicide or stupidity or penance from the other day, there was something not quite right about the little guy just giving up like that, without a fight and without us even having to waste any more peanut butter.

This got me thinking about the coming day that I will be taken out of this game called Life, and I, for one, want to go down swinging.  I want to go down hitting hard, for I believe that one of my jobs here on earth is to make Satan’s job as hellish as possible.  So though at times I may doubt my mission and fear the weapons in my hand (which right now happen to be the words on this page), I know that Satan would love it if I were to just walk up to the trap of insecurity and throw down my pen.

I will continue to write.

Now, be that the same old stuff in the same old style time and time again, that’s fine because by putting words to my feelings I uncover a sense of ardor and articulation and consequently, a powerful form of prayer and meditation.  I write because by my own words of admission, I am reminded of and reaffirm myself of the task at hand.

I will continue to write.

I also know that many of you read my stuff and well, jokes on you if this is terrible and you keep reading.

As for me, I will continue to write.