There and Back, Yet Again

A problem with going out of town for a few days is that when I come back, I’ve been on a journey and none of my friends are any the wiser. It’s like Bilbo taking his trip and returning to the shire; life went on in his absence, and still goes on, with no regard for his adventure.

Granted, very little by way of life-changing happens on trips to Texarkana, but when I come home to Austin, my cafe friends are none the wiser that I’ve been away. Matter of fact, it doesn’t register on their radar the fact that I may have been out of sight for any length of time — it’s an unfortunate downside to being in a scene where people come and go seemingly at random and make few out-of-channel plans to meet up.

I returned home from my trip tonight and wanted to go sit in a bar with grown-ups. My cafe friends were oblivious that I needed someone to talk to over beer. No one agreed to my invitation, so I showed the back of my hand and went to be alone over a beer and a book.

Suits me fine.


I’m uncomfortable, this season of silence. The stomach acid I carry and hold deep inside wants release, but that would be violent. Emesis is a terrible thing. It is also no thing to let go slow, or the damage creeps up the esophagus, burns holes, damage to self. Hold it down, keep it in, swallow hard and hope that pressure relieves on its own. That is my life. If I told you every little thing that was wrong, I would damage myself. If I told you no thing, I would damage you. Sorry for the distance. Every day is every heart attack is every struggle, but I still walk, against all odds.

I miss you, my readers, my lovers. I miss you, my robots, my crawlers. But silence mutes me now. The important stuff goes on paper, and this is not my paper. I hope you understand.