Running Up That Hill...With No Problems

How about a post after nine years of silence? 

And a quick thanks to Stranger Things and the inimitable Kate Bush for making today's blog title for me. It's apt and it's been stuck in my head for weeks. 

I originally tried to post this on a different blogging platform until I get something more permanent, but this was way easier for the time being. I need to change some things out with the oh-so-retro layout, but...here we go: 

So. I needed a depository for all the garbage I type into Google Docs and abandon to lie dormant in the ether for eternity. In other words, I just thought I would share my ramblings with any weary internet traveler who might chance upon this dark little recess of the internet. The site is still under construction, so things will eventually look different, but in the meantime will be giving "couch-surfing drunk cousin" vibes. I am not even sure what the focus here will be, and I'm pretty sure having focus is rule number one of starting any social media-ish platform, but I need more spontaneity in my life. 

 The last few years have been a LOT. A lot for everyone. We talk a lot about the people and things we've lost, but we don't talk as much about the things we gave up, whether we wanted to or not, or whether we were ready to or not. No one's stories of the pandemic (and the state of the world) could possibly shared in one brief passage and that is not what I am attempting to do here. But I do want to tell you how I got here. I found myself rooted in place at what was supposed to be a temporary job in retail. My dreams are still plagued every night about those endless days when the work was never done, when I would be asked to finish some other task before clocking out, or getting to clock out, but never reaching the exit door. I dream also every night of war, though not any specific one. The dreams jump from place to place and I often find myself in places I know, only to find that they've changed from a grocery store to a park, a zoo to a battleground, or a school to a house. I dream of people I've lost who have come back to me. 

So, what did I give up? I gave up on doing the things I love. I just gave up doing anything at all. I have not been mostly unable to finish a book in the last year. I don't write anymore. Even when I wasn't writing fiction, I always kept some semblance of a journal, even when there was nothing to interesting to relate or anything I actually wanted to remember. I find it a struggle to get lost in a TV show or a movie - or even mildly interested enough to finish through on a season. (Music has come back to me, though. I felt I lost that earlier on. It just didn't always envelop me like it used to, but I guess my mind found a way to latch back on to something I needed.) I would come home from work, usually after the world had gone to bed, driving through the dark, empty streets and into my lightless house, where I would pour myself whatever high-ABV New England IPA I had that day, watch YouTube, and eventually drift off and then start the whole thing over again. 

I guess I'm trying to find my way back to that and try to remember that I've seen a lot of good in the past few years, made new friends and reconnected with old ones, and found some joy. I have a lot of half-finished writing projects and ideas for podcasts and maybe even YouTube, but everything is in transition for me at the moment and all that requires less equipment and planning than typing out some paragraphs on a blog. When I sat down to write this intro, I didn't know it was going to take such a dreary turn, but I suspect that future posts will be just a little lighter. 

 Thanks for reading.