privatized mutterings

Today is a day for a renewal of sorts. I'm even surprised and thrilled that this internet dust is still piled together in a recognizable form. It's been awaiting! I feel the ripples of bloggish impulse coursing through me and feel like I should just get this to become a habit. As I can see, my contributions to this blog all those days ago were so meager. Now that I am writing I can wonder aloud, silently, why that was. I think being in school didn't do much. I think that I was too bent on being impressive. That is, approaching myself with weighty expectations, like I was actually a worthwhile stream of factoids and compelling contributions to the digitally reading race...I'm not now, but I am something different today. Then I just cracked open quickly, spent a second reassuring myself that I was a "paper writer" and that I had grades to be got...well I'm not that anymore either.

Today I had a dream that I was sitting in the center of a classroom of small students, their teacher monitoring my presence with the sledgehammer of school appropriateness in her eyes. There were others in that circle, one seemed to be a diminutive girl from Trader Joe's who I'm ashamed to admit was remembered for her stature. We were all to take turns reading a story of our own to the kids. It's been a long time since I felt the need to write a story in the reals (because physically speaking I have become proficient at substituting those sorts of needs with drink, sex, food, comfort, laughter speeeech). But in the dream I had a story ready, a fierce one I'd wager. There was a failed stand up comedian (aka me at 16/17) who doesn't tell any jokes in the story, just sorta gets on and off the stage, and there was his brother, a special teams player for the Steelers. The kind that runs into the guy who catches the opening kickoff, the cork that stops those spare miracle journeys of one man from one end to the other. Little glory. Anyhow, he had cancer, this special teams guy. And in the dream, while my turn to read didn't happen (thanks to my gal's morning alarm) I remember fretting about relaying the cancer of this athlete to the kids. Not because they were Steelers fans, oh no never that. But because of the imagery I was prepared to read(/write in my head while I dreamed it) of the body of this man, who fully knows he has cancer, crashing into those other players on the field. Keeping it to himself while his tumor collides with their muscles. Whoaheywelll that was something to mull over in bed while the gal was pacing around the room getting the clothes on for the work week.

I applied my reflections on the dream to a latent decision, time to clean out the old gourd. No intake of alcohol, drugs, and grease for at least 7 days. Don't know if this secretive decision is gonna serve me well, or if it will occur at all, but I feel this need to shift out and onward. This is the start. I've done some odd things today. Scoured the internet and got excited all over with what I can do with it. But I need to know my hands still have fingers and those fingers still have push. I guess that's why I'm here again (no doubt I can thank the savage mr. rp for now) and why I'm spouting off. I don't need direction, I've got too much of it, I just need fuel. And I need it for just me, I'm not ready to share all these musings, but I know I'm gonna pursue 'em. I especially like the way I fly across the linescapes of an online window so that's where I'll settle for now. Oh and I'm gonna make a tornado, I might even make more than one. Just feel me out Ryan, just try me on again.