Man, this weblog has lost its plot.

When I said the suicide thing was tired, it just means that I've pretty much exhausted writing about it, it having culminated in getting to the metaphoric edge and then walking away from it. We're walking away from the edge. We're backing away from the edge. We're tiptoeing away from the edge. We're moonwalking away from the edge. I can still theoretically break free from my captors and turn and make a mad dash off the edge, but that's just theory.

And with all that mystic/metaphysics/pseudo-physics gibberish I've been rambling on about lately, and it's not over yet mind you, I don't know where this is headed.

grounding:
I'm in suburban New Jersey.
I can't be here much longer.
Cycling in New Jersey is stressful and sucks.
Cycling in Manhattan is stressful and rules.
Hurricane season has started with remnants of T.S. Bonnie arriving later today and Charley on the way for the weekend (hurricanes move faster than I remember).
I might go to a monastery in upstate New York for a week next week.
Entering a monastery near San Diego is still in the cards.

That actually helped. I never meant this weblog to become so abstract. There is context here, you know. And I am so all about context.