Travel Up

It has been almost 10 years (September 2015) since my first-ever international airfare trip, to Toronto Ontario; and my tonight wanderlust is stronger than ever. I’ve hit a point in my life where my air miles is higher than my ground years, and now I want to leave the confines of my local country to see the world to find what it’s about.

I miss being half-drunk and walking around one of the many college areas of a foreign city and not feeling like I should be paranoid about getting run-upon and mugged. I need reckless abandon again.

But my gov is making sure I’ll never have it again. Keep your head on a swivel, because someone’s pretending to represent you to them, and that someone is not you. You are more like the others. I am more like the others.

I miss my Canadian friends. Danielle, we’ll hang out again soon. I hope you’re doing great.

Until then, I’ll keep my passport fresh and try finding someplace within to get weird with my experience of the world. There are pockets of not-me out there, and I have to find them. I need to find them.

Three and Fifty

My thing about birthdays is that I cannot stand being the focus of so much fuss. My mother would spend so many of my birthdays kicking me outta the house, forbidding me to come inside, or it’d ruin the surprise of all the decorations she’d put up just for me. No.

I mean, I thank her for wanting to deliver that kind of parenting, but my life isn’t for the cover of Good Housekeeping. But because of that, my best birthday is to be left the fuck alone. Truth.

Hell, I remember my 30th birthday where my housemates did the same shit, and all that old resentment came welling up; the sullen anger, the resistance, not wanting to leave my room when they had the cake ready. No.

No, I don’t tell people about my birthday, because then they’d feel compelled to buy me a drink or take me out to dinner or whatever, and I can’t stand for that. Can’t righteously accept the obligation. Nobody should feel compelled to do anything for me that they organically didn’t already want to do. No.

Therefore, I keep mum about my birthdays. Why did I take today off? I have PTO to burn. Truth, and a lie of omission.

So, otherwise, today I bought a suit. An actual suit with coat and pants. Because I’m a man of a certain age and I need a suit with a modern cut. Primarily for family wedding next week, but secondarily because every man needs a suit. That was a gift to myself.

And then later I ate sushi by myself in a room of 100 strangers. Because that’s how I celebrate my birthdays. Sushi by myself. And to be left the fuck alone.

Is it normal for 53-year-olds to be so antisocial as a coping mechanism? Should I be seeing a therapist? Don’t answer.

Snot By Snot Wad

SXSW 25 is a wrap, and I had a decent time, despite things.

This year, my buddy Doug was up for south-by shenanigans, so we had a text chat going to say when we’re downtown, what we’re seeing, where we can meet up, etcetera. For once, both of us were in good health and high spirits.

Unfortunately, I’m out of shape and didn’t pace myself by taking a night off, cutting evenings short, or paying for more pedicabs. I wore myself down and caught the Con Crud. By Friday night, last show, I was feeling beat, drained, uninspired. I needed sleep more than anything.

By the time I woke up Saturday morning, I knew that I’d been had with something virile. So much sinus pressure. Eyes bursting. High fever. Malaise. Sore joints. I called Saturday off. The best day. Missed the chance to see Fragile Rock. Ugh.

Today, I am finally well enough that I’m considering going to the office tomorrow after WFH for 2 days.

Currently at the cafe having coffee, admittedly too soon (probably at the point in the virus lifecycle where it convinces the host to be sociable). Sitting outside. Hand sanitizer. Etcetera. Fresh air.

I really should’ve worn a mask all last week. But I didn’t. Carried one. Carried my CO2 sensor, too, but never turned on alerts for bad air like I should’ve. I was just “WOOOOOH” bare-faced to the world. COVID ain’t the only thing out there. I knew, by the way the edges of my nostrils were itching Friday afternoon that something was oncoming. And then boom.

Well, at least it wasn’t food poisoning this year. Ugh.

Shock-Blocked

I just found out tonight that, for the first time in my internet life, I’ve been . I’ve been missing the voice of a friend for a while, and assumed she had jumped completely over to . Haven’t been seeing her posts.

After subbing to her blog, which she just restarted, I got confirmation in a post that she’s spending a lot of time on Mastodon again. Hooray! So I looked at her linked profile (she jumps profiles a lot), and it shows that she has me blocked.

I hope it’s an accident, because I don’t know if I said or did anything. There was no discussion. I feel hurt.

But that’s the beauty and the cruelty of the ; you can mute and/or block any account for any reason or no reason at all, and you don’t have to justify it. You’re in control of your relationships; you curate your social graph. You are in charge of your own experience.

I hope I didn’t say anything untoward to cause her to cut me out. I like her; she’s one of the reasons I keep clicking “refresh”. I miss her. If she doesn’t want my posts in her feed, that’s her prerogative. I’m sad about it, but she has agency.

Hope she’s doing well.