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Harbinger

Harbinger

I got this catalog in the mail yesterday. When I saw words in the red oval (or is it a box with rounded corners?) at the top of the cover I though, “Yes!” But then I sent a version of this picture to Cindy just with a subject line using the word omen. She sent back to me, “What does it mean?” I guess I was just too clever by half.

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Previously: Letter writing and computers Cell phones came along, and with them came texting in bursts of 160 characters or less. Facebook allows you to use more characters, so that you can form full paragraphs, but most of the people I know simply re-post something from someone else that is simply a slogan or a silly untruth. Twitter is worse because it limits you to 140 characters. I began to realize that there were too many messages with much too little content worth pursuing. I still have my accounts, but I don’t use them anymore, and I don’t miss them.

That brings me to blogging. Once again I can write in a longer form. Each of my posts has a specific person in mind when I’m composing. Often that person is myself, because a) this is a means to keep track of what I’m thinking at that moment, b) many are of my memories of earlier portions of my life, and c) because I’m kind of self-centered. But I also write many of my posts aimed at another person because it helps me focus the message. That other person may not read the post, but there is some satisfaction in knowing a few people follow Classical Gasbag and may get something from the writing.

By now you wondering what I am going to find missing in posting to my blog. Very little, actually. Except that I find that I’m imposing a lot of self-censorship. I know some of the people who read my posts, and it makes me really consider the content. I might, for example, feel like posting memories of some incidents that happened to me before I met Cindy. I don’t think she would be upset by what I wrote, but since some of her friends read the blog occasionally, they might no understand, or just think that I am crass. (They would probably be right about being crass.) Also, there is the remote possibility that someone from my past might stumble upon the post and recognize that I am writing about them. That would certainly be bad. So rather than taking a chance on upsetting someone or their family, I impose self-censorship. It cuts down on the drama. Some personal satisfaction is lost, but contrary to what I have previously declared, it isn’t all about me. And so ends my writing about writing…for now.

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I sent an early draft of these writing posts to a person whose writing I respect, and asked for input. That person advised me to compress the post or to split it into a number of separate posts. I did both. I think it is better now. Thanks!

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