Hello and hey there to all who may stumble back toward the Unicycle.
I've been away for a long time.
Funny thing I've noticed: the older I get the more fucked time gets. Some things move way too fast, like say, the last two years since I posted on the blog.
For all those hard to keep track of speeding away years, there is time that passes so slowly I can hardly endure, like say the current presidential campaign. November can't come fast enough and yet I wonder if it'll come at all.
So yes, I've been away for a long time, and yet the time hasn't felt at all long but if I measure the time by other events in my life, time has dragged, and there it is.
I guess, the problem with writing personal stuff is the fact that it's, you know...personal. I fear that this urge to overshare points to a flaw in my character; I worry that this desire to unload the details of my private experience publicly points to an underlying insecurity and pathological need for reassurance. Hey, what the heck. I own it. I'm all that kind of crazy with more crazy on top like a crazy garnish.
That said, in the past, some folks have told me that reading my blog helped them in some way. That was really nice to hear. I like the idea that spewing the personal publicly can help other people cope. And so, you know, I guess, I'll try writing regularly again for a while.
There's so much to write about, and so much I probably shouldn't write about but probably will write about anyway. Because I'm a shameless narcissist. Actually, I'm not a narcissist. But shameless, yes. That's probably the truth.
I'll try to be sensitive to the privacy and needs of others. I sort of fucked that up in the past. More than sort of. I totally fucked that up in the past. And I may well fuck up again. It is my way. I think what I am is a shameless fuck-up. Yes, that rings true.
If I've learned anything in the last two years it's that I fuck up a lot, but I can be honest about it and I can take responsibility for the consequences. And frankly, fucking up is part of being a person. It's something we all have in common.
So many things are happening, big picture things, personal things.
It seems like the whole world is coming unglued, pulling apart.
It's hard when all the things start to unravel at the same time.
It's hard when you realize that you've been pulling some of the loose strands yourself, and it's sobering to find yourself at the end of the day chin deep in a sea of thread. Of course, I'm high on metaphor right now. Sorry for that.
But anyway, these days I'm wading around in the unraveled fibers of all the things.
That's the way it is. Sometimes you have to rip it all out and make a new one. Whatever it is: a sock, a sweater, a heart, a life.
You have to keep pulling the threads, confident that eventually you will create something new, something that fits you better. And yet, it's important to keep in mind that what you're fashioning today will not always fit you, and that's okay.
The unraveling and recreating will continue forever, until you die, and then, guess what, you'll come apart and be reassembled again. And again.
There it is.
I guess I'll start writing slow and take it a little easy. For now. Until I can tap back into that gorgeous vein where all the words just sort of mine themselves.
In the meantime, I think maybe it's time to learn to knit.
I've been away for a long time.
Funny thing I've noticed: the older I get the more fucked time gets. Some things move way too fast, like say, the last two years since I posted on the blog.
For all those hard to keep track of speeding away years, there is time that passes so slowly I can hardly endure, like say the current presidential campaign. November can't come fast enough and yet I wonder if it'll come at all.
So yes, I've been away for a long time, and yet the time hasn't felt at all long but if I measure the time by other events in my life, time has dragged, and there it is.
I guess, the problem with writing personal stuff is the fact that it's, you know...personal. I fear that this urge to overshare points to a flaw in my character; I worry that this desire to unload the details of my private experience publicly points to an underlying insecurity and pathological need for reassurance. Hey, what the heck. I own it. I'm all that kind of crazy with more crazy on top like a crazy garnish.
That said, in the past, some folks have told me that reading my blog helped them in some way. That was really nice to hear. I like the idea that spewing the personal publicly can help other people cope. And so, you know, I guess, I'll try writing regularly again for a while.
There's so much to write about, and so much I probably shouldn't write about but probably will write about anyway. Because I'm a shameless narcissist. Actually, I'm not a narcissist. But shameless, yes. That's probably the truth.
I'll try to be sensitive to the privacy and needs of others. I sort of fucked that up in the past. More than sort of. I totally fucked that up in the past. And I may well fuck up again. It is my way. I think what I am is a shameless fuck-up. Yes, that rings true.
If I've learned anything in the last two years it's that I fuck up a lot, but I can be honest about it and I can take responsibility for the consequences. And frankly, fucking up is part of being a person. It's something we all have in common.
So many things are happening, big picture things, personal things.
It seems like the whole world is coming unglued, pulling apart.
It's hard when all the things start to unravel at the same time.
It's hard when you realize that you've been pulling some of the loose strands yourself, and it's sobering to find yourself at the end of the day chin deep in a sea of thread. Of course, I'm high on metaphor right now. Sorry for that.
But anyway, these days I'm wading around in the unraveled fibers of all the things.
That's the way it is. Sometimes you have to rip it all out and make a new one. Whatever it is: a sock, a sweater, a heart, a life.
You have to keep pulling the threads, confident that eventually you will create something new, something that fits you better. And yet, it's important to keep in mind that what you're fashioning today will not always fit you, and that's okay.
The unraveling and recreating will continue forever, until you die, and then, guess what, you'll come apart and be reassembled again. And again.
There it is.
I guess I'll start writing slow and take it a little easy. For now. Until I can tap back into that gorgeous vein where all the words just sort of mine themselves.
In the meantime, I think maybe it's time to learn to knit.
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