One Foot In Texas, the Other In Wisconsin, Both In Virginia (12/31/08 Wednesday)

I've had a few suggestions to make a novel of this mess, but mess it will likely remain. I don't have an ending or the imagination to make it up, and I can't begin to make Julie real. I just don't know her, and I never will without her cooperation. I'm having a difficult enough time, anyway, defining the border between journal and blog. I'm not even convinced there can be one. the audience has changed; I don't know who I'm writing for anymore. Sometimes, I don't even know what I have to say. This doesn't seem so much a crossroads as a deadend. But I can't stop. The first paragraph of the previous entry was supposed to stay in my journal, but I couldn't let it. I resent the audience's influence. I want to write without fear again. What more damage can be done? If what I've written has labelled me, how much worse can the label become? The fear may be more appropriately the reader's. What do I have to fear from the reader, no matter how closely associated with me or anyone mentioned here? I've only ever expressed myself, and if I've been read wrong then I've been read by the wrong readers.