Well, well, so this is blogging. Didn’t think to realize it would include writing while I was schlumpy too. Duh. So guess that means it needs become cryptic and artistic, a land of indeterminate meaning, storyish and wavering, no longer a tale of me, but a gathering of we, for complaining is something I try to share only with my close friends and associates.

I bet language was invented so people could complain. Our pre-anderthal ancestors needed a way to get their whine out, something more specific than actual whining. A good complaint still contains the essence of the canine whine, in its tone if not content. Still haven’t figured out if complaining is good or not. I do know a little goes a long way, but it also is helpful as a pressure relief valve.

But if I never ever complained, what would I have to talk about? Though it may be that to never complain once in life would be superbly healthy for the heart and soul, not so much a holding in as a true releasing.

Another one of those damn mysteries, oh yay. I’m starting to get fed up with all this mystery. Maybe someday I will know something for sure, but today ain’t it.

Your hell-sleuth,

LWIII