I think it's hard to stop blogging. I'm addicted to blathering to the world blah blah blah. It's fun.
But eventually the whole thing peters out, right? And is it better to go with a bang (or even a small pop) and a cheerio or wait until the only person reading the blog was doing a search for "naked monkey sex" (yes really that's what he was looking for. Nasty of me to assume "he")
My sister thinks that the phrase there is no growth without pain is bullshit. But I sometimes think the only permanent internal growth can come from pain. Reward is too easy to take for granted and not as memorable as pain. Yeah, I presume the world experiences are all divided into carrot and stick and that's bull. A lot is life just standing around munching the grass waiting for the driver to make up his mind. No carrots, not sticks, just you the mule (or is it an ass in that expression?) and some dull grass.
If I wasn't blathering (blah blah blah), and writing books, what the hell would I do instead? It's like unrequited love with a passive-aggressive or just pathetically indifferent lover. The only way to end it is to leave. You want to do that before you kill him/her (or yourself) or get too pathetic.
All those Barenaked Ladies songs about people who don't do much of anything, don't take leaps. At least I took my leap. Half-hearted and not particularly far, but it was a leap.
So that just leaves my greatest fear, which, after watching the 'rents, is outliving my life. It haunts me more than failure. So when do you know that's done? I bet you don't know and neither do I. No outside judges can decide--unless, of course, there aren't any brain waves happening.