I have let many moments of personal history and epiphany slide by simply because events have been too hectic or they have been a repeat of previous, very disappointing bits of my life that I've already chronicled.
Cutting the narration out of my blogs leaves me with feelings of festering discontent and resigned disgust, which have already been mined for literary profit and cathartic release.
I suppose every blogger goes through something like this-- a near-reckless willingness to log everything of import the moment the blogging account is activated; later a growing careful refinement of content for entries; finally, a long period of inactivity for lack of documenting something new and wondrous. But I digress.
I have to leave this house. All are agreed it is a symbol of everything gone wrong with this family. With me. I will not have even the semblance of true peace until some key people leave-- through a convenient death or through a long delayed cutting of ties. Everyone means well. And that's the root of the canker.
My problem with leaving is that there is now nowhere to leave to.