What would Jerry Pournelle write?

I still lack a clear objective with this blog. Now that my travels have come to a definite pause (as could also be said for the previous Seattle interlude between the two most recent adventures, but this time more deliberately) I want to continue writing but I'm not sure what. How. I need somewhere to direct my excess mental energies. I've kept a constant journal for the past two years but blogging is an entirely separate outlet. Yes, I'm writing about my life but I'm writing for a possible audience (who actually reads this anyway?) so I care to write it well. Perhaps I'm trying to open myself to anyone who cares to listen (read), to express all this confusion about who I am, where I'm going, who I want to be and maybe (just maybe!) arrive at some kind of working conclusion.

Writing is a haven where I can release what I'm thinking feeling wondering, go deep within myself to see what's buried in there at that exact moment. To bring forth these formless things in order to shape them in to something coherent. The blog is much more accessible than the rambling journals. Through this manner of reflection I realize how much I want to know myself, over and over. This immutable motif in my life. In the blog I can type my ideas nearly as fast as I can think them. I review, edit them to create a intelligible story to and about myself. This blog is a public record of my life. I ask: Who even reads it? Then: Who cares? Writing, for myself or for an audience, is the best way I can express my feelings thoughts opinions in any articulate or comprehensible manner.

What do people write about in blogs? I don't know enough to write about music or film or politics (is that selling myself short or being realistic?). That I have traveled extensively must count for something in this life. I sat down to write this post about [delayed] reverse culture shock. To return to the subject which I dealt with on my return from Europe. My brother told me (drunkenly, on the night of his 21st birthday) that each time I go on one of my "excursions" (his word) I come back more calm, more "chill" (again, his), more accepting (mine interpreting his). I asked a close friend if I had changed: a solid No. How is it if two of the people who may know me best can't even agree on this? If we are experiencing constant change, how much change is enough to be more dramatic, more special, notable? I feel different than when I left. Is it some change inside me? Is it a different attitude? A different perspective? My physical environment? The weather? There are so many variables working together on this. I wonder: is my attitude toward my living situation so powerful as to effect this much difference?

I'm so happy. I hate to write it as if to jinx it (superstition is powerful even for those who don't believe it) or is it as if to admit it? As if to reconsider it later and decide I wasn't actually happy? Can't I just accept it for what it is and enjoy everything? This looks like one of my journal entries: more queries than explanations. I dealt with the problem of my future when I came back from Spain. Now I'm dealing with the enigma that is me. Trying to figure out who I've been, who I am, who I will both unconsciously and purposefully become. Trying to figure out why I'm so happy and do everything in my power to remain so. This is all I want out of life. I must find the means to this end.

I'm going to take a creative writing class through North Seattle Community College beginning at the end of June. I'm incredibly eager to do something like this. I've been telling people: in order to maintain motivation and in order to gain support through other people and involve them in my life. I'm not sure why. Mostly positive with one ambivalent response. I would love any and all opinions, suggestions, input about this blog from any and all of you readers out there. Whoever you may be. [Is there anybody out there?]