pondering the imponderable

not as philosophic as one might think.

I'm getting ready to approve my introduction for my next book, The Morgantown Suite Poems, and am having a meltdown...ten years ago...no problem...but now...

the Intro mentions many old friends and acquaintances, some living - some dead - some in limbo as I have no idea where they are, above or below ground.

What if someone objects? I mean, they can't sue me just for saying they were my first kiss or we worked together...but having dealt with the Panther's brand of burnt bridges (she once had me take down an interview she did on the web because she didn't want a cuurent boyfriend to know about the circumstances of our relationship...then threw a fit when she discovered that the rights to the interview were actually owned by the interviewer, who expressed a desire to put it up on her own site) or the friend in LA who, when E.J. put up his website (I included a thank you to everyone who has been kind to me over the years, including her...she really did show me kindness at a time in my life when I needed a friend who was not just out for the notoriety of running with the dragon) wrote him a nastygram telling him to take her name down, that she was "not now or ever a reader or fan" of my works. Ouch.

So, I always have to worry. Not about litigious things, as at this point a lawsuit would just make the book and myself more public, but about honestly hurting someone's feelings, which has always been a major motive in my life (truth be told, most of my truly majestic blunders have been incompetent attempts to help someone...I'm not evil, just inept.)

Some days I feel like Charlie Brown. Some days, I just feel browned.