I spent most of the night thinking about how I was going to begin my next blog, before I began it. I’m still here. You’re still there. We’re still bouncing from each other, ocassionally.
I didn’t give up the writing blog, didn’t give up the music, didn’t give anything up. Somtimes I give up on everything, but so do you. We just look at things differently.
I still teach at the place in Flint, still teach at the places in Detrtoit, still sit in front of the screen and ask you to come to my screen, once in a while.
If you don’t like sports, that’s cool – I’m thinking of starting a soft-porn blog – a place where older ladies can go and write the love stories they imagine. Maybe, a column for their recipes, too. We’ll see.
I hope you’re well. I am.
Three years ago I might have said, “I hope you’re well. I’m alright.”, like a child, and asked for your forgiveness for my own weakness. To be strong is not a virtue or trait, it’s a requirement of steadfastness. I wouldn’t have been a child, but to myself, I’d have been incapable.
We give ourselves weight with our own words.
I have been revisiting old music, old habits.
The woman in my life is always there, like a truss.
Every so often, it’s alright to look up and ask the stars for a reset. Ask them, let’s try this all over again. And if you get it, they get it. You can ask a rocky beach, or a crowded forest, why did I come here?, and whatever you walk away with is better than what you came with.
Saturday morning I’ll get up early and spend the day in the museum with the ladies who know all about ekphrasis. They’ll ask me questions about the painting, and I’ll tell them what I think.
So, there’s no point in giving up, unless you’re pointing a gun to your head. In that case, put the gun down, unless you’ve already read Moby Dick.