Quiet week on the blog, eh? That's o.k. by me, but my apologies to the regulars that stop in here - both of you, really, I'm sorry. I've actually done quite a bit of writing this week, but it has been actual writing . . . like hand-writing . . . like with a pen and paper . . . like with no hyperlinks to other journal entries, books, etc. Amazing. I actually used to do that kind of writing a lot. I filled a big lot of journal books up . . . and then one day I threw them all in the recycle bin, and away they went forever. The process of writing is an interesting one for me. In a way, when I write in a private journal format, I do it just to help me put sentences together, to help me process things that are happening in my interior world. And once those verbs and nouns and adjectives have been put together in a (mostly) coherent way, I don't need them any more. Before throwing them away, I had actually gone back to read some old entries, and basically what I found was that I was bored by it. I wasn't struck by the profound words of a young man trying to find his way. More than anything, I think I was embarrassed by the silliness of most of it. And so, in order to prevent anyone from reading them, I did away with them. But I did put them in a recycling bin, so you know, in the recycling process, it's quite possible that they were turned into newspapers, and have actually been read by millions. Don't laugh - it may actually represent my best hope for being widely published.

This morning, I participated in a computer software study at a company you may have heard of. I did it, in part, to study the way they would study me. It was interesting, and they sent me away with some fabulous door prizes to thank me for my time. Cool enough. And now it's back to work. Next week is UW finals week, so things will be pretty quiet around the Purple Door. That'll give me some extra time to work on inter::mission stuff, and catch up on some reading that I've been wanting to do.

I hope your Advent season is going well. It's a good time of year. Not the most important, mind you, but important.