Writing as therapy for a man who has trouble admitting he has emotions
The first time I came across this blog thing was in 2004, during the Iraq war. I stumbled onto a political blog and started reading some of the stuff. Lurked for quite some time, finally joined in, made some comments, and wrote some posts. It was easier on a political site because, as the comedians say, the jokes just wrote themselves.
But I eventually grew tired of all the rancor and kind of let it drift away. I still go back there from time to time to see what’s the outrage de jour, but I haven’t written anything there in a couple of years. And I rarely participate anymore because politics has just become such a free-for-all pie fight.
Still, I find that I miss writing something and putting it out there to see if anyone notices. Maybe that’s why I’m doing this, but I don’t really know. Perhaps another reason is I’m trying a bit of self-finding, although that sounds quite trite as I say it. I’m finding myself, like I had somehow lost myself. I’m pretty sure I’ve known where I was all along.
But like many of my species (Homo sapiens males) I do have a hard time with those pesky emotions. Expressing them, that is, talking about them. I grew up with that stoic, man up, suppress them at all costs mentality. Oh, I’ve got them all right, big old weepy mounds of them, but talking about them is verboten. At least, it’s always seemed that way. Read more ruminating
Childhood memories of favorite places are tonic for the soul
Grandma’s house was tiny when I returned to see it, all those years later. She moved there after Grandpa passed, when I was young, perhaps three or four. They say the old place was just too big for her to handle. As a child, I thought Grandma’s house was enormous and wonderful. I like the childhood memories best.
It was a block off the town square, on a quiet tar-and-chip street with a pronounced crown. Between the street and the cracked, uneven public sidewalk was a deep drainage ditch, deeper than I was tall. You could sit at the bottom, in the closely mown grass, lose sight of the world around you, and watch the clouds drift, puffy balls. Read more ruminating
Quantum Cloud 2000 by Antony Gormley. Photo by Andy Roberts from East London, England (Flickr) [CC BY 2.0 Creative Commons]
made, done, happening, or chosen without method or conscious decision:
“a random sample of 100 registered voters” synonyms: unsystematic, unmethodical, arbitrary, unplanned, undirected, casual, indiscriminate, nonspecific, haphazard, stray, erratic, chance, accidental
Unfamiliar or unspecified:
“you believe some random dude on YouTube”
unfamiliar or unspecified:
“he sat down in the gate and talked with some randoms”
I feel a little random today. Definitely undirected. Can’t seem to make up my mind. Start something, get bored, start something else, maybe another, come back to the first. Very erratic, a bit haphazard. Read more ruminating