Wrote and deleted several posts this week. One was about the rising number of suicides and of murder/suicides in the US. Too exhaustingly depressing.
Another post was on dreams and dreaming. Had dreamed I created a large backdrop for an outdoor show. Everyone made the traditional noises of astonished respect as they saw it. But then things happened. One part sagged forward, almost collapsing. Another person came to me pointing out problems. I ran around fixing things. As I wrote about it the next morning, I realized, oh, a writing and editing dream. Writing the post helped me think it out, then I deleted it.
The week has seen a lot of dreaming. One night I experienced a series of lucid dreams. A man in white robes showed me problems and then gave me solutions. I awoke feeling empowered. I had more of the same the next night. Dawn saw me rising feeling more empowered and astonished that someone had taken time to teach me as I slept, for that's what I felt had been happening.
These dreams resulted in me feeling very relaxed. Yes, it's quiet out there, too quiet, but I feel reflective and comfortable with where I stand and live. I wrote about them, then took the post away. There was a work rant. The less said of it, the better, as it was more venting about corporate life's incongruencies.
Another post written and deleted addressed recall of a friend and co-worker. A big ginger guy, he suffered from tremendous perspiration and body odor. I'd been lightly making fun of my own perspiration and it brought memories back of how he suffered, how this guy in his thirties cried about it at work when he came to me for advice. Deleted.
Cat tales were written and deleted, along with a post about writing a short story, the Yahoo CEO who faked his resume, and the cold gloomy change in our weather this week (it's 43 right now and will reach about 60 F, almost twenty degrees colder normal than usual. That led me to write about Celsius and Fahrenheit, then I deleted it.
Why I was writing and deleting so much? I don't know. There was a sense that this was just more chatter, background noise. I know, that usually doesn't stop me.
I felt satisfaction with each that I wrote. I don't know why I closed them without posting. Writing about it helps understanding that so now I'm thinking it through as I trace the thinking that led to the non-postings.
In the end, these unposted writings were exposition to help me understand as the writer authoring my life but the reader didn't need to know these matters. The deleted posts didn't move the story forward.
So what of this one? Does it move the story forward? I don't think it does. It's more self-indulgent stream of consciousness introspection. I'll flip a coin. Heads I share it, tails I delete it.
Causes Michael Seidel Supports
Kiva, Women's International League for Peace and Freedom, Propublica.org, Doctors Without Borders, GreaterGood.com