Sprocket

Damn it, an hour to kill, something to say, but in no particular mood to write…which is unfortunate, because when I’m in the mood to write, an hour can disappear in the blink of an eye. Not this morning, though…this morning it’s all just mushy-mush up there, and I don’t have the mental width to properly express myself in a… a… um… a makey-it-make-sensey fashion. Yeah.

Fortunately! I give not one fuck, right now, and will be soldiering on regardless. Typically, when I feel like writing an entry, I start with a title… soak up some white screen for a moment, and save it as a private entry till the next day. Next day arrives, I bring it up, and spew out a proposition. Generally from the hip. I leave the computer and do something else for a while, as I stew… coming back every half hour to an hour and adding a little more. Once finished, I buff it out a bit, polish it, make it nice and tidy and hit PUBLISH– then buff and polish a few more times before leaving it be. The end. Anatomy of an anticlimatic entry.

Except this one, of course. This one features no second guessing– no pausing, and no hours upon hours of stewing reflection. Well, look at that boys and girls, we just killed fifteen minutes. Not bad. Only 45 to go, hang in there!

Now what? Hmm… what do most people write about when they have nothing to say? Stuff, I guess. Minutia. Guess I could take a crack at it, eh? I picked up a new hobby project for the winter– a vintage semi-operational pinball machine from the 60’s that I’m going to resurrect and buff out a bit. Spent the last few days learning about solenoids, relay switches, score reels, and wire soldering…and have had a chance to get into the machine and fix a few small things that need fixing. Still waiting on the major fix, though– the zero position reel switch– which I can’t access until I get a lock smith over to the house to open the back panel for me (I was tempted to just take a crow bar to it, but ripping it apart is kind of the opposite of what I’m after– really wish it’s keys were in it when I got it). Something, and I’m not entirely sure what at this point, is wrong with that switch, and because of that the machine gets hung up in it’s boot-up process and just clicks and clacks without starting. Could you possibly give a shit less? I highly doubt it. In fact, I’m starting to bore myself even…. BUT, I did find an interesting parellal between the way the machine works and our relationships with one another.

Damn, I should have dedicated a proper entry to this… but like I mentioned above– mush mush. Anyway, old pinball machines look overwhelmingly complicated when you crack them open and have a look inside. It’s an ocean of wires, switches, fuses, coils, blahs, dlahs, and whatevers…but the process is actually very logical and simple. Essentially, it’s just one closed circuit. A network of on/off, fire/don’t-fire electrical relays that run their course, and return to the default position. When something goes wrong, things do not return to the default position, and instead "short out," or in other words "jump the tracks"– just hang up and sputter indefinitely until the plug is pulled, or the problem is adjusted.

Some relationships are closed circuits. There’s a synergy and a natural balance between these people….I am blessed to have a least a small handful of such types in my life, as I recken most people do. Some people, however, do not function as a neatly closed circuit…and instead are doomed to keep "shorting out" for various basic reasons. Patterns of abuse are short circuited relationships. On again off again romances are short circuited relationships. They are systematic patterns which, inevitably, crash out or get hung up– forcing a system wide reboot, and a re-tweaking of diodes.

…aaaand I’d love to carry on, but mine hour hath been slain–ruin smote upon the OD mountainside.