Catch Up

Almost two months since my last blog post. Yes, I’ve been busy. I’m also looking to change, yet again, how/where I publish my blog and kept thinking I would get around to that change before I posted again, but alas…

Follow Up

RSS reader of choice, current: feed.ly.

I had to stop playing Minecraft due to a developing RSI. (The game, like all first person games, involves a lot of mouse moving.) I miss it almost as much as I miss real beer.

I haven’t talked about my six month sobriety since the end of month one, apparently. It’s gone ok. I’ve slipped up but certainly haven’t been tempted to cut it short or slipped back into the habit. I am, however, counting the weeks left (I’m in month six now). I’m going to have to monitor myself carefully when I do start drinking again. I’m concerned about the amount of desire still left for the sauce but confident lifting the restrictions will be anticlimatic.

Lucy: 17 Months

She’s actually almost 19 months old now, but…

Lucy, 17 months

17 months

Lucy at the Dallas Arboretum

She is like a beacon of unending emotions of all kinds. The complexities of how I feel when I look at her is too much for words.

Lucy at the Arboretum

Lucy and Penn

She’s re-completed our family. She is a force. “LOOK AT ME. I WILL NOW MELT YOUR HEART.”

Lucy holding a picture of Margot

Yesterday while Carissa was cleaning out some of the stuff from the attic Lucy found a picture of Margot and carried around the house, talking about the cute baby.

PA Trip

Needs its own post. It was great. There was some bad news delivered while we were there. Life can’t help but be complicated.

From the podcast

From Roderick on the Line

From Palahniuk’s Haunted

“Telling a story is how we digest what happens to us,” Mr. Whittier says. “It’s how we digest our lives. Our experience.”

“You digest and absorb your life by turning it into stories,” he says.

Other events–the ones you can’t digest–they poison you. The worst parts of your life, those moments you can’t talk about, they rot you from the inside out.

But the stories you can digest, that you can tell–you can take control of those past moments. You can shape them, craft them. Master them. And use them to your own good.

Those are stories as important as food.

Those are stories you can use to make people laugh or cry or sick. Or scared. To make people feel the way you felt. To help exhaust that past moment for them and for you. Until that moment is dead. Consumed. Digested. Absorbed.

Currently

Experiencing a 24-48 hour period of exteremely low energy. This happens to me about once a quarter and I find it extremely frustrating. So I’m blogging…slowly. Carissa says I should just roll with it. I want to be able to get an instant blood test and find out what’s wrong. Maybe this time it’s just the Summertime Blues. It’s not even that hot yet and I’m suffering.

But overall I’m lost in a veil of Okayness. I’m ok with so much. Nothing surprises me anymore. I get frustrated with small things but the big things are all alright with me. I feel like I’m getting old. I feel like I’ve yet to figure out what my one Big Project is. I’m wondering if that’s all just a story we tell ourselves.