time flies when you’re having floods


Howdy Hey, little doggies! I am appalled not to have updated you in the past two and a half weeks. My stats page did not help my self-loathing in the slightest. Yet like a phoenix. I arise from my perpetual absentmindedness to bring you this vitally important report: not much has been going on with me lately. But the world is a little bigger than I.

Nashville reports the original estimate of the economic impact of the flood has doubled to $2 billion. It gives me chills to go down my own street and see entire lives reduced to piles of rubble by the side of the road; homes nothing more than empty shells. And I can’t help but think: that could have been my home, my possessions, my identity, washed away to nothing. It is a reminder of two things: that the recovery has begun, and that we have a long way to go yet.

If I had to distill down my overall sentiment lately into one feeling, I’d chalk the past couple weeks to distraction. Disconnect. Not from my own life so much as from making people aware. I’ve been going about business as usual: applying for jobs, spending time with friends and family, working on a project with a nonprofit, thinking about learning how to play instruments, going to shows, imbibing unreal amounts of espresso, you know, the whole bit.

Really, I am doing very well. I feel like things are looking up across the board. There are even things I am looking forward to, which is always a nice way to be. I had been feeling some heaviness. And the root of that was to be expected: lack of writing. Like an athlete who doesn’t exercise for two weeks and wonders why he cramps up, the writer who doesn’t write for a while is likely to feel tired, heavy, disoriented.

Case and point.

Lack of public transit has likely contributed to my feeling of disconnect. There have been stretches of several days when I haven’t left my house. It is difficult to remember that time is passing when you’re not there seeing the sun rising and setting. “What? It’s Saturday already?” The whole thing- the cabin fever, the altered surroundings, the lack of awareness. One of these days, I think Hitchcock is going to walk around the corner and start giving commentary on it all.

Luckily, thanks to grace and understanding of friends and family, rhythm is beginning to be restored. I am hoping they will be able to extend the transit services beyond medical needs soon, as I am anxious to schedule and start ukulele lessons, and to be able to fly solo again.

In the meantime, I’m thankful for my wingmen. Without you all, I’d be stuck; the tail of my kite tangled in the the branches, tossed about by the wind.

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