Monday, February 1, 2016


I have figured it out. When I have ample time and cannot distract myself with the drabness of employment or the responsibilities of a relationship, I read. And write. That's it. So maybe this blog does serve a purpose. A few purposes. Yes, it's a distraction. But it's also a map. It's a map as well as a journey as well as a destination. A key. A mess, a necessary knot to untangle. And maybe this blog full of its twists and dead ends and rough starts is only useful for me. And that's okay. And and and.

And it's just a blog. I don't have to make sense. I'm not writing a dissertation here, folks. I'm not even trying to write terribly well. If I was, I would start fewer sentences with "and" and I would cut out a majority of the "probablys," "maybes," and "perhaps." I would swear less, although swear words can absolutely add to a piece of writing when used "correctly." I wouldn't make so many parenthetical statements (yes I would). I might even -- gasp -- revise and rewrite.

But this is where I go to, you know, jam. Yes, this is my version of grabbing a guitar at 2 in the morning and just jammin' with my bros, yo. This blog is my bongo drum. I will write without limits! Without hesitation! Without ever mentioning borscht again!

This week has been weird. Oh, it's only Monday? Funny. Funny how a few hours can feel like a week when you are snowed in. When you are Edward Snowden. Ed's last name is literally "snow den." I want a snow den. I think I may even require a snow den if I want to live a full life. And I do. I do want to live a full life, part of that life spent living in a snow den surrounded by books and huskies and husky men I will never be attracted to. I picture a snow den to look like a sexy 1970s den, complete with wood paneled walls, a mirrored ceiling, shag carpeting, roaring fire, cocktails and coke on glass coffee tables.

To be completely frank with you, I do not want a snow den. I want a museum. I want to live in a place both empty and full. Empty as in clean. Empty as in bare. Full as in inviting due to its simplicity. Full as in it only contains pieces that bring me completely and utter joy. Pieces that inspire. But very few pieces -- not that a lot doesn't inspire me (hell, borscht inspires me), but if I am surrounded by too much, my brain shuts off. I want to be able to focus. I want to absorb a single object, a single place, a single idea, a single person -- let it/them seep into my bones and reveal itself/themself to me. Satiate me, please.

Snow den. Yeah. That was a good one.

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