What a blog, what a blog, what a blog, what a mighty fine blog
I've honestly not so much as glanced at read.write.as since saying so. I can't even remember when that was, and don't even feel compelled to figure it out. It's just, well, I dunno.. a bit of pride over finally attaining unto genuine “throw it over the wall” blogger behavior.
Definitely feeling less mania in the direction of feeling obligated to keep up with read.write.as.
The icing? Turning off the mechanism showing numbers of reads of past posts as well.
So what happens when not getting lost in a screen space that wasn't what one imagined it to be anyway?
Nothing. It's classic “what happens to the space formerly occupied by one's finger in a glass of water after yanking said finger out” territory.
Like.. never.. happened....
Which, of course, begs all kinds of questions about the nature of “happening”.
But, nah... no one ever gets that anyway. Or, okay, maybe here and there... but generally sufficiently incorrectly to feel it appropriate to run from it, pangs of suspicion of how interwoven “it” and one's seeming self, well.. seem....
But, oh! What a day and evening, yesterday! Sun, big time spring temperatures, guitar on the deck in and around wine sips, met another neighbor.
And this, now... writing about it? Same old oblivious-to-the-world-in-hypnotic-screen-stare, mind this side supplying all definition, context, meaning, significance while pretending it's coming from without.. pretending reading-about somehow reasonably approximates actual experience.
Or does it, with so-called “'actual' experience” playing severely overrated burger?