An unfortunate happening, this: when I commit to posting by saying something like, "A post is coming. I wil be right back," it much more often than not, is a prelude to a protracted hiatus. But it's not like anything all that productive happens. It's sort of like I get into bed at a predetermined time, but between incorrect or unintended layers, and discover that there is an object (like pencil [or a pebble (or a pea)]) that is stuck between sheets beneath me, obliging me to get up and negotiate the opaque and darkened jungle of blanketry just to remove it, so that I can have another go at resting. By that point, though, I've begun to think of this or that undone thing, and the litany of projects derailed in process, and what a failure I've been in my adult life, and how much I miss my friends near and far, and...well, this begets a besmirching torrent of regret and negativity at my own expense, which is one ineffective lullaby. Feeling haunted thus precludes sleeping, which culminates with my sleeping until a disruptively late hour. The gray scramble that ensues typically concerns the myriad of life-and-living matters to which I must attend.
That is what happens, in a(n expansive) nutshell.
Today is beautiful to see, and hooray for windows, because it's insultingly cold. Molly and I have decided today to, in earnest, become a greater part of the community in which we live. You know: instead of seeking some blissful endpoint to our wanderings, we'll be here, because this right now is our family and the lives that we are living.
We will see how that goes.

Please end soon, Winter.


  1. some sort of book is in order .. the writing of it .. maybe its already, at some level, being ordered? .. and at a price that does you little enough damage for it to be delivered

  2. ah, here it is. Benb, it's wonderful. Life in cold midcoast Maine winter strikes me as being unbelievably lonely sometimes. That and being the parents to two small children definitely makes you feel as if you are in a world all your own. Have faith, dear friend, that many of us are there too. Sharing your journey and looking out the windows at the sunlight.

  3. "An unfortunate happening, this: when I commit to posting by saying something like, "A post is coming. I wil be right back,""

    If there is one thing I have learned in my continuing battle against hatred of my own neurochemical untypicality it's that breaks are not only necessary, they are warranted. (Also, if I'm going to post here, you're going to have to get used to my invented English. See "untypicality." Oh well, English was a mostly invented language anyway. ;)) Breaks are warranted and valid, even if they cause a thorn in your side. Live with one thorn and take a break until it subsides, otherwise you will eventually be covered in them.

    As for the rest, I have found no definite ease to sleep haunting. Like you, I lament the failings of my adult life. Unlike you, I miss people who never really knew me because I was unaware of who or what I was at the time and continue to be more malleable than society is generally "okay" with. Therefore, I've had a lot of relationships that end when someone realizes I'm larger than the person they thought I was. But I (most self-centerdly) digress... There is no cure for the haunting for me. The best I've found is to invite the haunting feeling to be with me, to find something as an anchor (just some small bauble is sometimes enough to remind me I'm productive and have not necessarily failed in the eyes of myself), and finally I will often allow the feelings to take over (usually manifesting themselves in late night reading or tv watching or crafting).

    "Insultingly cold" <- I'm stealing that. Yoink!

    I am glad you have decided to do something other than seek "some blissful end point." The ending of things aren't usually blissful or happy anyway. Contented journeys spiked with interesting glittering points of awesome are much better in the experience department.

  4. Heidi: Hello there! What you've said is very interesting. Anything that we can do to see glittering and spiky things as awesome is very good indeed. I thought about stalactites, which are pretty exciting.

  5. Ida: Life in cold midcoast Maine winter IS unbelievably lonely. Every year, I wonder whether I'll actually reconstitute in full when Spring arrives with that diffuse, recalcitrant mosey that it has in these parts.

    I'd always thought that I had heaps of friends in northern New England, but many of them have ignored my overtures for convening for much of the 6 years that we've lived in Maine. My heart breaks over it routinely.

    Your kind words, however, are of great comfort to me, and I thank you for them. How are you and Natalie and Person X (whose name I do not know--congratulations!)? I hope that you're all smashingly well.

  6. Mark: I AM writing a book. Part theory, part fact, but they each and both enjoy dressing up as the other. Look out!