Anyone here remember when "blogs" used to be called "essays"? Anyone here knew that the word "essay" also meant attempt. Here's my attempt to restart this blog. It might take awhile for me to get back to my 2007-2008 level of nonfiction writing.
8/13/2014
I
occasionally experience brief waves/sensations of giddiness mixed with sadness.
It’s the closest I ever come to shedding tears (except for the ones I have when
chopping onions). The most likely explanation is that I’m confronting the very
real reality that I am lonely and that a single life is not my ideal. My
problem is that I’m reluctant to reveal that I’m “looking” for someone on any
online social network because of the kinds of people and concomitant drama that
would draw toward me. I’ve reached the point in my life at which I’ve learned
viscerally as well as intellectually not to accept just whatever partner is
available comes my way. Still, being alone hasn’t always been a lot of fun for
me…and now that I’m 46 and my 50s are just a few years away, I’m forced to
admit that I’ve neglected a rather important aspect of myself by regarding
relationships as unimportant.
I tell
myself to be grateful for all my past instances of unrequited love because with
some considerable thought I could see that I was not quite right for the women
I had wanted to be with. True, I’m really grateful that I’m still friends with
a lot of them and I’m truly happy that they’ve found people they’re happy with,
happy for their wonderful children, etc, etc. And of course, being single means
that I’m available for when the right one comes along.
Still,
being alone can suck at times. I could use a hug right now.
That’s
another thing I’ve noticed about my current life. I don’t have a lot of
physical contact with other people and I’m starting to feel it like a vitamin
deficiency. I’m otherwise physically healthy but I sometimes get the sense
something is amiss. And I don’t mean sex either (although that is something I
also miss a lot; celibacy—especially when it’s not voluntary and/or goes on
long after whatever time for reflection you may have needed it for—is rather
overrated as far as I’m concerned.
In the
morning, I suspect I’ll get over this and get back to working on the novel. In
fact, I have to wonder what purpose sharing all this has. It’s hardly
entertaining. Maybe by getting this stuff out of my system, I can keep it from
seeping into the writing that would be entertaining or informative or otherwise
worth reading. Maybe the Twitter/Instagram/Facebook crowd is right in that
lengthy navel-gazing blogs are so last decade. But hell, last decade was the
one in which I decided to get back into writing. Without succumbing too much to nostalgia, I'd take that approach to online communication over sound bites any day; so fuck ‘em if they ain’t got
the attention span.
8/14/2014
Okay, I had some chocolate this morning; so I'm okay now.
