Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Hiatus Time On My Hands

Taking a hiatus has been the best thing I've ever done. Not trying to come up with things for the blog. Not putting out my members newsletter. Not arranging real life meetings. I'm just vegetating, nothing but time on my hands. To do whatever.

I went out and checked on the half acre. Actually walked around the entire perimeter, really happy to have my little piece of Earth right here. I know I'm not the center of the universe, of course, but it's a nice thought to think, No globe would be complete if somehow they left off this half acre. What? You'd have a little sunken impression on the globe? No man's land? That's ridiculous. Because it actually is here. I can look from border to border, then straight up, and know that from here to infinity definitely starts with here. So I'm being here now.

The thought of the half acre, just wandering it, puts me in a wistful mood. Too bad Grandpa isn't here to see me still here, haven't left. He wouldn't be too happy about Grandma's bad health, of course, but his wasn't much better, which he died from. I keep thinking if you just stay right where you are you won't die. But that doesn't make any sense. Because you have to leave sometime. I've been places that I've left and I'm still alive. Some places I needed to leave. Like if I left a building, then 15 years they demolished it, I can't help thinking, Good thing I got out when I did. I would've never lived through the blast. But for the most part it's true: If you're right there, you survive. I knew a young woman who died at 23; if she'd've been someplace else, it would've never happened.

I'm not a big fan of wistful moods. But I remember how it'd be out here with the cousins. Roto when he was a kid. The ones from out in Wyoming who came every year. We'd be messing around with the crawdads over by the tree, pumping the well, messing around with the outhouse, watching Grandpa mow the yard, posing for pictures. Now Roto's out in the country and I don't see the Wyoming bunch anymore. They're married, I guess -- maybe divorced -- and have grown kids and grandkids. Who knows? Maybe a few of them died. They have grief in Wyoming. Must shake off wistful mood. Wistful me goes downhill fast.

Maybe that's why I got into everything that now I'm taking a hiatus from. I need something to occupy my time. Tons of ideals. Ideas. Insights for the masses. They're looking for a guy like me out in the bush. The local man. A Brian the Hermit kind of guy. To send the signal for all to gather, to take back our proud land from the conquerors. To warn of the dangers of the North, of Skidrow, of fly by night carpet stores. To invoke dreams of free women in red convertibles. And everything else I weighed in on. But no, must enjoy myself on hiatus.

I could go out and throw dirt clods. And study their aerodynamisticity.

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