Essed

 

 

Distressed. Depressed. Obsessed. Repressed. Unimpressed.

I try not to offer opinions on the events of the day, because mine mirror those of so many others, and there is no real need to add to the general discourse. What I observe of the news causes me to wish that humanity was a much better species.

There are other worlds than this, and someday I hope to visit them.

Above is the penultimate Diatom. Bonnie chose the color for this one, and I concurred. It seems appropriate. (This isn't Big Blue; I saved that for last.) I have spent a month exploring the intricacies of these creatures, and I'm tired.

 I began this journal with the idea of committing a novel to print, but the novel was uncooperative. I have continued on mainly to provide a showcase for my little critters, of which I am perhaps overfond. There may be more Diatoms in future, but for now this period of my life is closing.

Unlike many J-landers, I have never before kept a diary or journal. I question the wisdom of continuing this effort. Most journalistes provide accounts of their daily lives or offer their opinions on affairs political; some offer humor or whimsy. (If you haven't read the Lord Peter Wimsey novels by Dorothy Sayers, you are depriving yourself of some excellent reading.)

My daily life is one of dismal sameness; no one would find it interesting. My opinions are also uninteresting, and people with far more talent than I can muster are articulating them more than adequately, elsewhere. My occasional spasms of wit and whimsy don't provide enough material for an ongoing enterprise such as this.

Introspection can be a wonderful thing, but sometimes it can be toxic.

Pray for better days; pray for humanity.