And starting sentences (or paragraphs, for that matter), with ad is not my usual style, but then, what's style got to do with it and yes, that is a reference to what's love got to do with it even if I am at a loss for the connective tissues of this thread of a thought that seems connected to love somehow. Love, or more specifically actively sharing love with the one soulmate person of y dreams, was once the most important imperative in this life as I've known it. Now, love is simply what I do alone. Beautiful feeling, still, and complete in it's own experience. And yet there is still a longing buried deep in my core.
I found my last love through the written word. It blew up, perhaps because I believed the written words and the physical reality was not as represented in the written words. I apparently gave up on that path and yet, again, I still love to write and communicate through written words so I once again stick some toes into the waters of correspondence by signing up as a member of a penpal website and in doing so, found myself writing to the last person I fell in love with and whether that is coincidence or foresight or predestined happenchance (or do I mean happenstance?), it is what it is and here it is now:
A least as we experience it, life is time. Shared time gives us the illusion that time exists more than solitary time. Mix the two, as most of us do in this life, and time seems to speed up and slow down depending on whether it is shared or solitary. I hope your time pleasures you and there are few regrets in your memories. Maybe we need another word for regrets, for there are regrets we create due to choices we make and then there are regrets that we feel because of choices others make I regret you do not stay in touch. Somehow that is an odd use of the word and yet, it makes sens on some level. It is a clean regret, as opposed to the regret I feel about leaving Toronto. I do not miss cold winters at all, so personal physical comfort does not regret leaving, while I loved the city and miss the family.
Anyway, I took a rare day off from work and while laundry spins, I sat down to pause in the cleaning I intend to continue today and here I am. I wish it felt more special, but writing into a void that only you have access to seems mostly futile and futile is anything but special, except maybe in SNL Church Lady terms (still finding myself laughing at absurdities and references, still hoping amusement overrides offense). Life is excellent on most levels, though a couple of areas (living space, intimacy, health, and positive input from others) could improve rather a lot if I was not so complacent and comfortable living as a refugee in what the middle class call squalor (laughing at the Procrastinators Unite Tomorrow T-Shirt waiting on the top of the next wash pile).
Blogging slowed dramatically in the last month or so as I worked a lot of hours (225 in one two week period) as my job is 24/7 during public emergencies and we did have that Hurricane pass through. Some areas are still flooded, debris clean up will take through November, and many here have it a whole lot worse than I do and many on islands have it much much worse than anyone in the US, but I was pointing out why the blogging paused more than wanting to discuss conditions or state of emergency orders or disaster work. This entry may be here, in large part, because I am reassessing the whole point and value of spending time writing words to no one - or to the ethers and posterity and the hope someone might someday find the words and understand and care enough to respond (leading to the possibilities of actual friends in life offline and more dreams coming true). No doubt I want to continue as the dreams are still as alive as ever. Is it odd that I stumbled into this writing space to way it? :)
I have one pen-fried left and she's been loyal and dedicated to almost instant responses (even when I disappear for years) since the turn of the century or so. Once upon a time I thought she might be you, but she does not have your writing style or penchant for long correspondence. She just appreciates every word more than anyone I've ever written to so I continue on and off all these years. This past year she has replaced Jackson as the person I babble on to and share most with in this world. The epitome of correspondence, I suppose, as we've never met in physical space and there's no hunger to on either side. Caring words are enough.
Words can't express just how important J has been throughout the years. Every time I found myself wondering if reaching out and trusting is worth it. she'd remind me of how much words can mean. Even when I stop believing in humanity, I find her words and that spark of hope that there are people who can be trusted revives.
This writing has turned into more of a catch-up introspective blog post than uniquely a message to you, but it's here and this blog continues because t is here. Life shared, however one sided, like a writer and a reader might. Is a writer a writer if there is never a reader?
I hope your time, shared and solitary, is smiling more than frowning. I hope, if you find your way into this blog, that the words are welcome. I hope you and all you love are and is well as well as you want and you are satisfied with your life and comfortable in your space and more happy than sad in your time.
honest love,
ric
Narf? :)
