BLOGGING: Where does it end, and I begin?

Or, where did I begin and where does it end?

I’m coming close up on 1000 posts. Never had that much to say in fifty-some-odd years, don’t know where I came up with it now.

At some point, I almost planned to shut down on this 1000-entry marker, figuring that I would no doubt run out of things to say. In truth, there are about a hundred or so more hidden elsewhere hanging out in space, and truthfully, I should not be allowed to count the silly fits of temper nor the politics I swore I’d never smear this weblog with. (Is that a dangling participle? I forget.)

It is an outlet, true, but then there are some things best kept within myself, although no one seems to care to point them out.

So many have encouraged me, I keep on writing. Stick a quarter in the slot and I will dance for you. No, no money would I ever beg nor hint for, but a kind word or pat or two will always do.

I’m rambling, but there is purpose to my meandering about. I need to make the journey from reality to doubt; to fantasy and poetry and pretty things and then I’ll write about them and destroy them with a wicked twist, just because I can.

But then again, is that not what creative writing is about?