How Time Flies

I'll be damned. Another six months eroded off the end of my life, and not one single blogpost--no rants, no screeds, no tirades, no psychological assault of the world at large, not so much as a solitary invective--to show for it. I ought to be ashamed, ought I not, dear friends? Then again, as I remind myself each time my behaviour passes a new and heretofore unreachable threshhold of ass-hattedness, if I went around feeling guilty for everything I ought to feel guilty about, I'd never get anything done.

Anyway, it appears that I have returned, at least for the time being. Wait, careful, you'll overwhelm me with your enthusiasm.

Balls.

I just realized this morning that it was just over three years ago that I first gouged my initials in the wall here, and I've been crayoning the place with my own delightfully incoherent brand of madcap pontification ever since. True, in so doing I have been about as regular as a yak full of Portland cement, but my heart has ever been in the right place, except when it wasn't.

In any event, I can't help but relfect on how much this blog--I still, as I pointed out so long ago, hate that word--has changed. In the beginning I think I mostly enjoyed the sound of my own voice, and be damned if no one read, cared about, or even understood what the hell I was saying. Later, my loyal if somewhat obtunded little blog followed me down a particularly nasty little bolthole, where together we walked fast, whistled loudly, and frolicked hysterically in the odd ray of sunlight. Just call it Blog, the magic dragon. Time bustled on, and life continued to happen to me with alarming frequency. Then one day, I was not so interested in the friendly, sheltering wings of Blog anymore, but in his teeth, his claws. The blog became flagship of my navy of the absurd as I tilted against the windmills and pinball tables of the universe. Finally, in our most recent iteration, it has served as the silent taproom in which I could sit and mull, and occasionally as the sunset grove in which I could rest a spell and chant myself to sleep with the song of drunken philosophy.

Come to think of it, maybe nothing has changed so very much after all.

So I've come back to it for a while. Maybe for good, but I wouldn't believe it if I were you. Maybe this time I'll say something that someone needs to hear, even if it is only me.