kyburg | Musings

And that's about all I have energy for.

Father's Day. I kind of approach this one like pagans approach Easter. A total non-issue as it doesn't apply to me.

An opportunity to pat my Mom on the back and give her an "attaboy!" - but not much else.

You look under interests and you'll find a lot attached to motherless daughters.

But not fatherless ones.

And the scary thing is that I don't think I missed a whole lot.

I like men. I prefer men, even for friends. One of my defining features is my distrust of women in general. And I adore my older brother, who's 10 years older than me.

Somehow, fathers are to be dealt with like appendixes. As long as they don't cause trouble, they get to hang around. But stay out of my way.

Something is wrong with this, but I can't put my finger on it.

Yeah, right.

I wish I had something to put my finger on.

Finding People Again.

cadhla mentioned seeing some friends of mine this past week. It's a side-effect of joining LJ and then trying to find people I know - I'm stumbling back into circles of people who have known me before...

And I'm not certain it's welcome.

Unlike

silverkun, these folks are my own age and older...when I think of how long I've known Jim and Melody Rondeau, I also have to think of the look on Silver's face when I tell him I've known them longer than he's been alive.

And they know what a dumbshit kid I was.

Hey, I admit it. I can make no apologies, however, having done nothing wrong - that I know of.

And all of these folks live far away from me. Always have. Always will. Southern California is Home to me. (As in "it's barbaric, but hey, it's home!") But I adore Northern California - I just can't quite snip the apron strings.

That's something else to keep on the back burner.

Lack of Creative Process. Unless you count my wit in figuring out how to balance three full-time problems at the same time. No, I'm not coping well. I'm grouchy, short-tempered and weary. Every spare MPS right now is going towards figuring out where to move, how to fix the house I'm in, where the money goes and oh yeah, WOOOOORK!

I'm not a spot worker who can sketch and write bits and pieces. For every hour of actual write time, I figure I do that best when I've had three hours of think time. To muse, to ponder, to test theories and see how they fit.

If I get three minutes, I've been doing well. Writing this is being stolen away from getting home as fast as possible, so brief it must be.

I can only wait until this period is over.