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Let’s be clear: I’m not going anywhere.

For some of us, spiritual introspection leads to a sense of calm, center and comfort. For others, though, a critical review of the images and texts around them is an essential part of understanding themselves and the world. I’m one of those others.

I process by writing.

Julie told me once that she has to process first, and then she writes.

I process as I write. I often only have faint glimmerings of ideas before I start putting words to paper. Sometimes I am even surprised by my own conclusions.  It can get messy, but it only stops being messy after I finish writing.

My head feels like a dusty and disorganized attic much of the time. It is only by getting the words out that there is any semblance of coherence or organization.

What is ironic, however, is that I have never been able to sustain a diary. You would think it would be a delightful opportunity to articulate and formulate and discharge.

But no. I can’t. It feels too navel-gazingly narcissistic.

So what am I doing here? I don’t know. Holding myself accountable.  Trying to make my thoughts mean something to one or two other people. While, at the same time, articulating and formulating and discharging.

I guess I’m a selfish bitch. Thanks for sticking along for the ride.

I may be closing my OKCupid profile (without the “OKCupid Project” there is no incentive for me to keep it going), but I will continue dating and struggling and complaining and processing in this bizarre little public forum. And we can talk about sex and art and anxiety and love and fear and romance and movies.

So in other words, it’s the same as it ever was.

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