Tuesday, January 27, 2015

The best place to begin, after so long a silence, is– Well, there really isn’t an optimal starting point, so we’ll stake our claim here, in the middle of things. What brought me back, as always, was need, plain and simple. I can feel parts of my brain atrophying, and that won’t do. I wish I could tell you I write out of passion, or even vanity, but I don’t want to know who’s reading this site, ever, and I much prefer to yoke this skill to the cold mantle of practicality, rather than loftier pursuits.

But it’s what kept me away from here that’s likely of more interest to you. Workload has amped up significantly in the past few weeks, for one thing, and that’s good in an economy like this, given my proclivities for food and shelter. Speaking of shelter, I’ve been gearing up for a move to nicer, more urban digs, and the prospect of living in a community that doesn’t resemble a landfill on a weekly basis has me fairly pumped.

Through some manner of witchcraft, too, I’m five pounds away from college weight. I’ve noticed the gym has been largely free of people driven to healthier lifestyles by some arbitrary turn of the Gregorian calendar, which gives me the run of the place. When you’re the only person in the room, you feed off the collective sloth of others. It’s what keeps you full, dark as it may be.

And then, of course, there’s Night Crow. We’ve shared some amazing moments, along with a certifiably mortifying one, and my biggest takeaway is to keep mum on my dating life and better honor the tenets of omertà. All part of the learning process, I suppose. I told her that, were I ever to meet my younger self in some kind of time rift, I’d probably punch myself in the face, and she agreed–about doing likewise to her face, I mean, not mine. Were that rift to open up right now? “Hey, I’m almost as lithe as you are,” I’d say to myself, “but I’m a lot better. Also, I need to punch you right in the fucking face.”

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