Ink and Paper

For a long time now I have given thought to the idea of going back to my roots: ink and paper.  Ink and paper journals offer me an immediate release of thoughts without fear of hand smacking or blog police.  They offer me freedom and safety from the blog world...but the do isolate me a bit.  With six (and sometimes seven kids) I rarely get time on the one and only computer in our home.  It is one of those old fashion kinds, a desktop that  has a keyboard with a leash. 

Even a laptop would offer me a bit more freedom than this dinosaur that sits in the middle of my family room.  (When you are raising wounded children, you often have to protect them from all sorts of things more harshly than well kids.  My kids have been shown porno on computers, to them computers are not safe places, but a place where danger lurks.)
 
Always on guard.

Always on duty.

Computers in the middle of the room with watch dog filters on them, I favor K9 web protection by Blue Coat, it is free and complete!

Innocence must be relearned.  Re-earned.  Re-grown.  Re-hatched.

Sometimes, adults just suck, stealing from little kids what can not ever be regained.

I long for the freedom of ink, youth and summer.

Life

Why is it that every time I come to my little blog I simply feel a sense of sadness?

Like I have lost a best friend who was never really my friend at all, like when Lady Di died.

Lately the songs sung on the edge of my abyss have echoed back to me a shallow, hurtful callings into a canyon that I stand in all alone.

I have considered deleting my blogs.

And left them.

I dropped membership in a community blog and was not even noticed. I even deleted my posting there...because I feel invisible in the blog world.

Mostly due to the edited style of my writing lately, the editing out of most of joy leaves a lemon like taste on all my words.

Fickle is the world of blogging.

Fickle.