By Michael Welch
If you’ve read my past blogs (and I’m certain you have) it is evident that I consider myself quite the esteemed columnist. I am admitting the self-indulgent spin that exists within my frenetic blogging. And yes, I think very highly of myself, so much so that I’ll use “And” to start a sentence. When we are reminded of Tuesday we don’t think of Ruby’s or elections we think of “the dubious Irishman’s” blog. We think insight, wisdom, precious gems, and unnecessary information sprinkled about in 300-500 words. There’s not a better way to complete a Tuesday than to take a gander at JJ in hopes of finding brilliance and language embracing each other just as Tristan and Isolde beautifully managed to through the dark ages.
I confess I have elevated my writing. I have tried to dazzle you with pen and ink. I have spent more time and effort on the idea of blogging for myself than for redemption. I believe I may have lost my way in the quest for appearing intelligent, charismatic, and relevant, when in reality I sound as foolish and manufactured as a street vendor requiring a disclaimer, warning you that a less skilled man with even lesser skills of writing is begging you to give him attention and will blog about anything to do so.
Both of these paragraphs are true. It’s classic grass roots addiction. I’m not that much but I’m all I think about. It’s being righteous and pithy, while displaying humility and regard. I talk about my split often; I blog about it often. It’s important. It keeps me “in the game,” afloat, present, and true. When I first heard about “the split” I thought it referenced a personality disorder. I already find myself in many of the diagnoses of the DSM-IV but I never saw myself in the schizoid column. I knew I displayed behaviors that were polarized, but I was not willing to claim ownership of that being a part of who I am. It caused shame - I was bad, and couldn’t believe that I kept resorting to lying/stealing/cheating/hiding. I didn’t get it, I didn’t want to behave that way, I felt awful and my life slowly began to shift into a soulless non-existence of my own making.
Nevertheless I stayed curious; I gravitated towards the architects who taught me how to heal the split. Through conversation, failure, and accomplishment I can identify who’s running the show. Others too, can learn from this seemingly difficult concept. It’s a constant struggle. I still struggle with my split, that’s the point. The struggle keeps me fresh and engaged, for if I ever decide to give up it is evident who resides with the power in this multi-dimensional relationship. I’m not interested in letting go of my soul, I’ll be cocky cause it’s me; I’ll be worthless cause it’s also me.
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