Blogging has been an outlet for me to let off steam, work out idea prototypes, or just reflect. There have been times over the past 10 years where I’ve used this space and others to lash out or criticize. I rarely do that anymore.

Being critical is easy. Raising the bar impossibly high for others makes more sense than holding yourself to the same impossibly stringent requirements. We all do it.

In the past, when I struggled with an issue, or I felt slighted by someone, or didn’t get the “proper” treatment, I enjoyed writing about it, or if I didn’t derive pleasure, I at least found it somewhat therapeutic. I’m always tempted to resort to this and call it “writing.”

I’ve been ruminating about a variety of things of late. I’ve been more pensive the past week than I’ve been in quite some time.

So many things are right where they’re supposed to be for me at present. Others feel slightly off-kilter, and some things don’t seem right at all. That’s the complexity that makes life such a mystery and the only thing worth living for.

It’s Friday, I need a post, so what you have is some slightly cryptic noodling.

I was tempted to write something about the latest petulant outburst from Maine’s esteemed governor, but I checked that urge because that would have been too easy. It would have been fun, though.

Instead, I leave you with some Flipper (the band, not the dolphin).