Okay, so here I am. Deadline met. Brief respite from this summer’s chronic busy-ness. Whew.
I woke up in the dark this morning and sipped hot, sweet tea as I watched dawn creep in. Watching the world go from black to gray to subtle color has always been one of my favorite things. After months of barely noticing my surroundings, this quiet morning was especially welcome.
But lounging around in my nightshirt sipping Ahmad English #1, however much a treat it may be for me, doesn’t make great blog fodder.
Better blogitude comes from worse news: like the fedgov’s chief spy boss lying his head off — to an audience of uber-hackers, yet! — while news emerges simultaneously discrediting every word he utters.
ADDED (via a comment from zelda): And the worse news may already be producing such uber-creepy results as this. Though of course, we, the Enemies of the State, are not privileged to know how or why the OverGovernment targets us. Sigh.
But back to blogging.
Better blogitude even comes from homeless shih tzus nursing lost kittens.
Even if I told you my nightshirt features a moose wearing fuzzy slippers, a pink polka-dotted bathrobe, and sunglasses and declaring “I don’t do mornings” (which it does; in fact here’s one pretty much like it), that still wouldn’t be worth dashing to the blog for, now would it?
News (the worse the better) always makes for easy blogging. But increasingly when I read or listen to news, I feel as if I’m on some other planet than the people doing the reporting. Driving around this morning listening to NPR discussing the “differences” between Fed candidates Larry Summers and Janet Yellen put me in that state. Differences? What differences? (Other than the fact that Summers is an “outie” and Yellen presumably an “innie” — which ought to be irrelevant — they might as well be clones of each other for purposes of what they’d do to the country once in power.)
It’s like the “differences” between Lilliput and Blefuscu on the matter of cracking eggs.
A guy siding his house with beer cans seems more in touch with any sort of reality I could respect.
The “reality” of politicians and newsies makes one want to find a map to some realer reality.
One terrible reality seems to be lately that a large number of people I know are getting cancer. One of my best friends died in April. Another friend and long-time benefactor has been coping with what ought to be one of the “better” cancers, but in his case isn’t living up to that relatively benign reputation. Last month I was in the midst of an email interview with someone when he wrote to say he couldn’t finish because he’d just been diagnosed with one of the cruelest cancers imaginable. I know that a couple active members of the Commentariat are undergoing chemo or recently have.
Well, you might say, people get older and start falling apart. But this particular “cancer chain” started a couple of years ago with a lovely and very young woman — who fortunately had great support and made a brilliant recovery.
I want to say something deep and meaningful here. But all I can do is fall back on terrible cliches about life being short and making the best of the time we have. And knocking wood. And spending more time sipping tea while watching the dawn. Because really you never do know if that’ll be the last dawn you ever see. Or how many more times you might get to watch the full moon rise.