I feel like I'm on the verge of something. What kind of "verge" may remain yet to be seen. The inevitability of the collusion between multiplied, simultaneous convergencies and divergencies (both generative and degenerative) are currently warranted.

There are things I need to let go of and things I need to center around. Simplicities beckon. The eventualities of the March of 2006 still crowd and confound me. Imbecilic questions of worth gnaw like pestilent rats at my feet, so walking through this may seem facetious to onlookers and friends alike; I just hope not so self-indulgent.

I am merely 36 and I am not longing any more for a sports car now than I will be at that heralded, big 4-0 (note to self: should I perchance become independently and instantaneously wealthy, a one-off, Chrysler ME-Four-Twelve could ease such an hankering). I don't think it's a mid-life thingy because I don't know where the end of my life is enough to ascertain a mid-point. Such calculative luxuries may not be mine after all.

But I think, spiritually, physically and emotionally, there are developmental advancements and regressions that beg the above ballyhooed question. Are we talking of mere disatisfaction? Are we talking about legacy, impact, significance and influence?

I know there are creativities within that aren't being tapped into. There are disciplined excursions into the familiar wonders of the creation around me that I've been avoiding.

And you know what? It's 4:14 a.m., and this is waxing toward cyber-vomitus. I'll leave it, nonetheless, for your enjoyment.