If living is a melody, pain has become my white noise. A soft, constant background hissing against which all my chords are performed. My fleshly instrument worn smooth with hard and long use – worn fragile in spots. Still capable of virtuoso performances, with care.
I’m mixing my symbology though. White noise is to transmitters, not instruments.
It seems I only blog during changes of direction. Hence my long silence. I’ve spent the last many months grinding through a progression of advances which, while fascinating to me, would excite others like yesterday’s oatmeal.
Friday is my last day of durance corporate. Given the interesting times, it will likely be many months before I shoulder the yoke again which makes this prime time for introspection and mulling. What next?
Alaska! Current target date is to point myself West and North on April 20th. 10,000+ miles round-trip. So far, my ducks are taking a number and lining up. With my passion for multi-tasking, this journey is time to shed stress, fulfill a long-held desire to see the far North, and quiet hours for thought and decision. And of course, a flood of photos.
I used to fear being sole, but now I revel in having a space/time all my own. I take my breakfast back to bed, a book my comfortable companion – I leave my dishes on the dresser if I like.
Using up all the hot water is joyous… eating the last cookie…
Solitude is separated from loneliness by the way you feel, not the company you keep.
The phone doesn’t ring at its appointed time anymore. The habits of affection are broken. TV is a companion of a sort, meaningless noise occupying the now empty sound space.
Listening to music is dangerous; once special songs lie in ambush with bloody teeth. My bed is haunted. On the edge of awakening I scent and sense fading warmth. Innocent objects salt tender wounds.
I never expected to outlive so many people… family, friends, strangers who crossed my path briefly but affected me profoundly. I never knew how many lovesI would outlive. Ignorance is bliss.
I now know why solitary confinement is worse than dying.
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The last two weeks. Sometimes my brain feels like a hamster in a cage running the endless wheel. My thoughts going around and around and never finding the way out. My body running on a circular track… go to work… go home… log on and work some more… eat… clean… go to sleep… Day in, Day out, world without end. Exhausts the brain and body and spirit.
I fantasize about sleeping for three solid days.
2,772,480. Roughly the number of minutes I’ve already spent. Balance remaining: anywhere from 1 to 8,760,000. The bacon cheeseburger and fries I had for lunch likely cost me both 22 that I worked for $ and another 1,051,200 for the clogged arteries. Petting my kitty bought me back 2,62800 give or take a few.
Possessions hit the budget hard. Spend minutes working to buy stuff. Spend to purchase, maintain, replace. Some of my friends wonder I’m so happy with my tiny apartment. 74,880 a year keeps it clean and beautiful. I can squeeze out a few hundred more by suppressing my inner neat-freak a few times a year.
My biggest expense has been relationships. A few have brought me both joyous experience and memory – value multiplied. The empty ones have taken time far out of proportion to the actual minutes spent – a negative return on investment. Doesn’t stop me window shopping.
Enough introspection. I’ve spent 20 to write this and you’ve spent at least 2 to read it. Time to play with the kitty and get those minutes back.
I’ve always refused to blog because most strike me as literary masturbation. Or the kind of thing you scribble in a journal and hide under your mattress. Boring beyond description except to the writer.
Well pass me the lube. I’ve started a bloody blog. I sure hope I don’t bore any reader to tears, but no guarantees. You were warned!
