Literal and Figurative Constipation

I once had an idea, but I no longer know who views this blog. I think I am uncomfortable with people reading this, though I am certain I can adjust, if perchance, there were passersby. I can't say that I am displeased to have fallen off the lists of links on which others had once put me. But didn't I say I wanted to engage in meaningful encounters, to participate in life and with people, to assert myself and my opinions, if writing a blog may thus reasonably entail.

Anyways, I am constipated. I live life in constipation, certainly, not only literally, but always also figuratively.

I simply cannot let go of errors and changes and processes of the past. Details contaminate the indiscriminate pools of memory that are highschool, undergrad, grad school. Borderless territories that must not be trespassed, from which i have departed but not yet resolved.

I approach souvenirs of the past with fear and apprehension, expecting something unexpected--some monster in place of the jack-in-the-box because the crank is wound too tight, and the lid held down too firm. But i should know. i had been there. i was there!

I never return to photo albums--and these are albums of photos that have once already undergone scrutinizing selection processes. However minimally, I continue to write, continue to snap photographs, if perchance there were one moment that compels remembrance. What am I looking for? What am I trying so desperately to achieve? What am I so miserably failing?