Van the Ripper

In which our Hero stops to look forward from a while behind

I was reading my past entries for much of the year, trying to figure out if I’d ever posted about a particular incident (I had) before referring back to it. There are so few, this year. I wonder about that, about what it says about my priorities and time and interest and energy. (It’s not all me, the general neglect of this place has certainly helped to break the habit of coming home and catching up with my people.)

On the other hand, it was a chance to see the forest instead of the trees. Lately I write entries with a feeling of dissatisfaction. The general malaise here manifests as a lack of focus; in my head writing felt like a soft ball gripped firmly and turned at my whim. Now it’s one ball among many juggled and spends as much time out of my field of view as in it. But reading back entries for a while, the writing is not quite so maladroit as it felt at the time. I recognize it, and I was worried that I wouldn’t.

(On the other other hand, I still don’t like how hard it is to write. It didn’t use to be heard, and then I ask myself if it’s a sign that I’m getting older? Or is it just a sign that I’m scattered and stressed?)

It’s interesting to shift from the point-in-time view of writing this or that entry to the stream view of reading a bunch at a time. Flipping between moments gives me the opportunity to actually notice what changes and what stays the same. One thing that really stood out is the feeling that I have of not being as nice as my parents are. I am not as friendly, I am not as sociable, I’m not as kind. Taking the year at once, I’ve been ringing that note a lot.

I suppose the reflection and judgement is natural given the kind of life stuff that’s been going on in the family. I’m not that bad a guy either, though. It’s something I feel as I read the bits and pieces. I’m not *as* nice, but I’m decent. I’m gentle. I’m patient, even, sometimes. I’m good with kids. I share my toys.

So I’m remembering that. Just that. I’m not so bad.

Work is a consuming concern in my mind. I’ve made a concerted effort to not talk about it right now, but it’s what I want to talk about, and I think will be the meat of an entry of my “real name” blog someday soon. In the meantime, I think I need to take an organizational minute. It’s the end of the year, so it’s a natural point to do it. I think I’ve been running from threats for months and I’m at the point where I need to stop and smell the sharks roses. Figure out what I actually need to do, what’s important.

I’ve been doing this thing the last few days. I walk for 1 mile. That’s all. 16 minutes of walking in my weird barefoot shoes. Two objectives, one is just to get back in the habit of moving around, 3 days in a row so far. The other objective is to use the barefoot shoes to build some strength in my feet muscles. It’s more work for them without the fancy arch support, so I figure a few weeks of steady use will get them into shape for longer workouts.

Now I just have to draw a monkey on my back for Fully Caffeinated.

Happy Thanksgiving to the Yanks