Heathen!

I was called a heathen by a homeless man today. Huh.

Psychosomatic

I haven’t blogged consistently in over a year. In fact, unless it’s been journaling, letters to friends or lists that are never fully actioned, I haven’t done much writing at all. I can blame that on any number of things, but the truth of the matter is that I have been incredibly uninspired. Perhaps it’s been a case of history repeating itself, but I feel like the lesson in action and consequence has been perpetual and in my hiatus, physically and mentally exhausting. Relationships and finances have taken a battering, and yet, I’m still here. A little frayed around the edges and missing a few people that have helped me figure myself out that little bit more, but that’s life.



During my sojourn, I couldn’t help but peek at a few friends’ personal blogs just to see what was going on in their world. People were mourning, celebrating, hurting, amusing, documenting… existing. Some of these bloggers, I knew personally before they started writing and have effectively shot to pseudo-celebrity status for their words. Some, I had met through blogging. Pretty much all had either attended or were turned down at the door to my open-invite 21st birthday party. I’ve laughed and cried with these people, celebrating additions to families (feline/canine/human) and mourning dear relatives I have never even met. I considered them friends, and had often bridged the gap of geographical distance by either calling, writing, drinking, or dining with them. Some, I would even consider family, in lieu of one that I haven’t been a part of for over ten years.

I suppose this spiritual/emotional/mental/karmic “Prodigal Son” complex I have so deftly manifested in myself has stepped aside for an undeniable sadness that I have felt for just as long; I miss my friends. Some are no longer friends. Some are no longer friends because I pushed them away. For those who I connected with beyond the realms of the Internet, for those I have hurt in one way or another – I am sincerely sorry. You know who you are and I hope you got to know me well enough to know that while I’m not so good with words when it’s really needed, my apology is genuine.

Fear of karma. Fear of being there for a friend. Fear of losing some of the most magnificent characters I’ve ever met (or not met) in my life. Fear of missing out. Fear of losing touch. Fear of fear itself. I’m sick of it. Whether I have something to report or not, I think it’s important that I get back in touch, and I suppose the most meaningful, heartfelt contribution I can make is to write.

Anonymous, my ass.

Teste.