My writing is the place I check my baggage and I rarely redeem a claim ticket.  Consequently, the fruits of my labors are usually questions, yearning, rebellion, melancholy.  I am looking for some kind of answers.  Oh, nothing so deep as the meaning of life or as sweeping as the truth of the illusion. 


I live on a smaller scale, worship in a smaller church.  A man once told me my church was too small.  What was there to say except that perhaps his god was too big.  My church is just the right size for me.  It was a group therapy session during one of my hospital stays and my attitude did not go over well.


Still, I’m only mildly pollymanic these days, so we’ll end this here and chuck the claim check immediately.