5/19/2017
A fall

I think part of my recent writing drought is because a part of me just does not want to get involved anymore.

Lately I find myself surprised when I manage to put together a pretty strong - strong is relative here - string of sentences commenting on something about politics, for example. "Why do the relatively quiet workers get bypassed and the clear teacher's pet be railroaded?" It's not a new thought, but sometimes old thoughts need restating - and I'm not sure I have it in me anymore.

Right now people are talking about this longform piece. I wouldn't tell you what it is about because I'm too lazy to link to it, and because I'm trying to see if, in five years, when I read this again, I'll remember what I actually was referring to. (Maybe not.) The smart people are arguing the hell out of each other, about who can and can't comment, essentially. I have not read it, and now I'm deliberately not reading it.

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5/09/2017
As a blogger, I am a failure

I started blogging twelve years ago.

My intentions in starting a blog were simple: I wanted to write. I fashioned myself a good writer - although that view remains as inflated as it ever was - so I thought I'll write somewhere people could see it.

I'm not sure if I have succeeded. Some people have seen my writing and liked it. Some have hated it, hated it enough to send me angry comments, even threatening ones. (They may be in jest, but they are still death threats.) Arguably my writing has led me to my current relationship status.

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4/30/2017
The more we build a community

In those exceedingly idealized versions of the world we live in, it doesn't matter who you are or where you came from or what you believe in - we can all get together.

But that isn't the case. And even if it did, we will, sooner or later, manage to break it.

It's really just how we are, come to think of it. No matter what we say, or what we write, or what we believe, we will find a way to break it. Yes, let's all get together, but no, not really. We'll impose some criteria, some unspoken criteria. We'll turn this whole thing into a numbers game, because knowing more people, having more people at our beck and call - wouldn't that be nice? We'll want to look better so we can have more numbers, and we'll only want to have the right people by our side, and then, boom. It's broken.

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4/28/2017
Some things must go

I now have three travelogues (roughly) in my head, and I have not had the time to get down and write them. I am actually forgetting some important details. It's a desperate situation.

Unfortunately I have moved to the point where I write long essays than encompass multiple narratives, rather than vignettes and short observations. I don't know. I guess I'm finding it fun, the whole journey thing, coming into this thing and sticking with it throughout its twists and turns. But then, this is something you read, and you can get off any moment. Like, right now. Jump in one of those twenty-nine other tabs or something.

Well, that takes time, of course. And, once again, I'm writing about how I don't really have time these days. So now I have all these thoughts for essays that stay thoughts, all these thoughts that come up randomly, get formed somehow, and then get parked again. Too many thoughts these days.

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4/13/2017
Muscle memory

I looked straight at her face and noticed, for the first time, that she smiles a particular way.

Granted, I have not really met Mika a lot of times. This must be the third. The first was when I waited for Dia Frampton. We forced ourselves to spend some time together because there really wasn't much to do, and the conversation, at least on my end, was awkward. We're not complete strangers, but we only really talked through tweets before, buoyed by common friends and, arguably, common interests. And then, this.

The second time, I was treating her to lunch. A few months prior we had a bet. Something about American Idol. I had long stopped watching the program by then, as I had moved to a new job, but it was all still recent, so I predicted that a guy would win again. She thought a girl would. She won, so lunch was on me. The resulting conversation, at least on my end, was awkward, or perhaps it was because I was dwelling more on the fact that I am treating her to lunch because I lost a bet. She paid for dessert anyway - that frozen yogurt place has long closed - so I guess that's fine.

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