Once More, And With Feeling

I haven’t been writing here much lately, why just look at the dates! Long intervals between what I have written and when I’ve come back like this, to try to get things going again. Crank up the old motorblog–check for rust!

It all began with 2010. 2010 was just one of those years that kicked the stuffing out of me. Or if not the stuffing, then some of it. A portion of stuffing. I recall once serving at a church dinner in Nova Scotia with my cousins, and in the kitchen the ladies of the parish had a stainless steel container full of hot, hockey puck-shaped portions of stuffing. Stuffing discs. It was, naturally, a strawberry festival.

Anyway, so 2010 kicked a stuffing disc or two out of me, and then 2011–while many many times more pleasant–has continued to present a variety of spiritual paper cuts on the index finger of my soul.

All of this has put me into a place of great internal upheaval and thinking, and reconsidering, and emotional renovations of all sorts. Help me choose the backsplash of my heart.

A lot of the time, this process has left me mute. Or at other times, I have had a lot that I wanted to say, but felt it would be imprudent to do so. And other times still, I’ve had a lot to say on topics that I felt unable to write about in any kind of engaging way for those outside of my head. As the primary audience of this blog remains, at this point, outside of my head, I refrained from writing on these topics.

And that last circumstance brings me to another point that has had me holding my tongue–suspending my finger. The self-aggrandizing and over-sharing that is the bread & butter of blogs and social networking sites.

As I have tried to work out my feelings about this, I suppose I have in the interim been less inclined to share. I have, for instance, mostly stopped posting images of things I’ve cooked or baked online as—while it can be sort of fun in a show-and-tell way (ahem, especially when you live alone and there’s no one there to pat you on the head for making 17 jars of green tomato chutney with YOUR OWN Goddamn balcony-grown tomatoes—NOT THAT I DID THAT, OR ANYTHING, I just like, heard about someone who did) yes, while it can be sort of fun—there’s a glut of people out there posting photos of every Goddamn piece of toast they burn, and thinking that we give two shits. And I find it stupid, and weird, and so I suppose then that I should not be so hypocritical as to assume that when I burn the toast, it’s news.

I’m also in the process of reconsidering my life in Germany, and applying to grad school, and trying to get my foot in the door of at least 3 different possible career paths as I search like a baby elephant for a reservoir on a desert plain for some kind of reliable income (ahem, btw, if you know of anything you think I can do—msg me ltr ;D  ). This has taken up a lot of emotional and mental energy and dominated my thoughts, when I wasn’t doing the jobs that I do do, or considering what to bake and not take photos of next, or trying to make sense of my lost stuffing discs.

Despite all of this, I’ve still found the time to attract and ultimately repel emotionally disturbed people and for that I suppose, I continue to be grateful. As I lie in bed at night, I can look up at the stars, and know that I am still a beacon in the dark for those human container ships of uranium, flying the flag of an obscure African nation, but ultimately distancing themselves from me for glowing in the dark.

And I’ve taken up knitting, which I will also not be photographing. Excepting the one photo of the first thing I ever knit that’s on Facebook. But in the photo I’m wearing it so it’s as if it’s in disguise. It’s a shawl. It’s a shawl dressed up like an Elizabeth. Very clever Mr. Shawl, indeed–how very knotty of you…

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