Dance Card

Life is what happens between phone calls. By logical extension, no phone calls, no life.

Joking aside, I’m feeling a bit empty and solitary of late, leaving it to unstructured happenstance to cross paths with random acquaintances and not be alone for an hour or so. Fully-formed adults don’t do this, right?

I should schedule time with people and then show up.

Coordinate. Collaborate. Compromise. Companionship.

End of file

It’s disheartening when I see blogs disappear, go 404, totally vanish because the author closed up shop. I’m a big fan of blogging as a great activity to do, a good thing to keep doing. I want blogs to persist because I believe in them.

I’ve had this domain for 25 years and have been writing journals of some form online since 1997. I’ve been writing paper journals since 1991. I don’t intend to stop.

When I see a blogger turn off the tap, remove all history, completely disappear, or worse, leave it all up and never touch it again, I feel a little piece of the Internet die. It reminds me how ephemeral this all really is.

I always wonder about the end of this site, how soon after my demise will the hosting shut off, how quickly my domain will get snapped up by porn spammers. Will there be any loved ones to back it all up?

Lesser Half

Called mother to wish her a happy father’s day. It’s our in-joke. Funny-ha-ha. I don’t have a father. Obviously, I do, but he has never been my father. I have never been his son. I’ve written about this before.

Has that made me less of a man? Yes, it has. Every bit of being forward and aggressive and truth-seeking, I’ve had to collect from context clues, from hearing what the people in my world had to say about it. But it is overshadowed by the regressive side of having a single parent, one who is given to notions of, “well, if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen,” and the learned helplessness that comes along with it.

It’s taken a lifetime to catch up and build my other half. Life is hard. Having two parents who can raise you in a balance will make you more of what you could’ve been without.

Unrestlessness

It’s a weekend day, and I find myself absolutely not wanting to be in my apartment. I get up, make breakfast, clean up, get dressed, and as soon as I can, I gotta get out the door. Where? Not home. Out there.

My apartment is fine. It’s not a bad place. But it’s just where I sleep and store my shit. Shit I don’t use anymore. A cave of dead hobbies. Airless, stale, staid, boring, hungry.

I’m hungry. Hungry for what? What is out there that I’m throwing down the hole? What do I hope to achieve by not being at home?

Will I ever find myself willing to just…sit still on my couch?