It's been excruciating not writing while developing the pages for the Hangar.  I didn't want to lay the words down until they had a home.  I could have posted to the mailing list, if I still had the mailing list.  It didn't survive the switch to the new machine. 
    I've gotten email asking what gives.  Well part of what gives is that the amount of truth I would up being able to reveal was inconsistent with the amount of truth I used to reveal.  Or maybe it's more like the facets of truth, rather than quantities.  The facets changed. 
    Every journaller has to deal with self-censorship in one way or another, to either do it in the writing, do it in the editing, or not do it at all and face the consequences.  I usually do it in the writing, but it began to look like I might have to go back into ancient history and do it.  And that, I was unwilling to do.  Once it is written, to me, it's done. 
    I used to censor my journal for a certain set of undisclosable reasons.  Now I censor it for a wholly different set of undisclosable reasons.  I do feel able to say that the first set had to do with people's feelings, and the second has to do with my on-the-job relationships. 

    The Goodyear Blimp was here this week, Sunday through this afternoon.  It's the one out of Akron, I hear.  There is no big event, just the promotion of tires.  Past two nights, the blimp has gone over my house roughly once every 45 minutes.  I don't mean vaguely over my house; I mean nearly brushing the treetops low right smack above my chimney, lights and humming props and all.  Crowds have been coming to the base site of the dirigible, mostly parents bringing their kids to see.  I wanted to do a soda tasting of some kind in conjunction with this, but the red tape through Goodyear proved a bit too thick to get sliced within the couple days they'd be here. 
    One result of all this was that as I was driving down to the store the other day, I found the gate at the edge of the property locked.  This was a surprise, but I turned around to exit via the service road.  At the other end of the service road, which parallels the taxiway and runway, there were several huge vehicles and mechanical devices that were trailer mounted.  I was irritable and took it out on the security guy who stopped me. 
    "Are you with the Allaire Airport Authority?" 
    "No, I live here and I can't get out.  I'd like to be able to run to the store and get some milk and eggs."  It wasn't my words, it was my tone.  It was harsh and rude and uncalled-for.  But he hopped into these machines and cleared me a path, not exactly on the service road itself (I hadn't realized a concrete barricade was behind all that stuff), but a way to detour the blockade by using a tiny bit of taxiway that leads to a nearby hangar to get back to the main road.  Right now, though the blimp is gone, the concrete barricade is still in the way, but it's no big deal now that I can circumnavigate it. 

    I fell off the wagon.  I've started smoking again, and a wee bit of drinking as well.  The drinking is so minimal, it doesn't constitute a problem, but the smoking...well my kids were so proud when I quit, they don't know my failure because I am only smoking at work and at night.  I feel horribly guilty.  The cravings are worse than they ever were. 

    More is coming.  I have the door propped open, so now it can flow.  Names and Terms up there is just a reincarnation of an old Warehouse entry that does a decent job summing up who is who, among other things. 

Names
&
Terms