There was a time when the greatest
joy came about from the stepping of soled-shoe onto
fresh uncharted territory, water squishing out of moist earth.


When so unburdened riding at speed down slick-grassed decline
forging paths through untreaded parts as an
afterthought, not a conscious effort to collect experiences as trophy kills.


I can recall the view of previously unknown to me
lake causing unexpected convulsions of something resembling great
remorse for fear that I could not grasp onto this moment for all remaining time.


Not in soul-steal attempt of light capture, but an actual holdable
tangible envelopment, the ability to, at whim, walk against the rushing cool
wind off the water, watch the ripples of bubble-expelling amphibians.


Now I fill the day-to-day with consumption and acquisition of
things and material wealth, feeding into the same revolving cycle of brick and metal
structures that pass on a continually looping playback of innocuous events.


Only to relish in the most minor of
deviance, to savor the minuscule hints  of a less encumbered existence.








From out a deep and unrestful slumber, the disoriented creature stumbled into the brilliance of a new day, a cold wind pressing at its back, the heat of the fully risen sun warming skin and sinews. 

For the past three years, I have lived as an adult. That is, without leaning financially on my parents or anyone else, working a full-time job, and inhabiting a domicile run independently by myself and my wife (though owned by someone else). And for three years, I have placed my writing career on hold.

Not intentionally, of course. I always maintained to myself that I could casually pick at my work, my other job, on time off. In this bizarre fantasy world, the momentous stress that comes with adult life in this wonderful capitalistic American wasteland of ours did not, indeed, weigh heavily upon my soul, body, and mind to the point that each day free of wage-mining made one want nothing more than to sink and melt before the comforting divine glow of Netflix and Playstation.

Alas, a fantasy it is.

We have survived near homelessness, several financial crises, one terrible landlord, two terrible roommates, and a move. We also got married, went back to school, got promoted, and rescued a tiny ferocious dog along the way.

And so, as it is with most things, given time and experience and plenty of (un)avoidable meltdowns, we have grown slightly wiser and ever-so-slightly better equipped to deal with the day-to-day horrors associated with “adulting”. So here we are, here I am, writing my first blog post in over a year and a half – my last Blogger post is dated July 2014, the post just before that details my efforts to get serious once again about my fiction/blogging…

I am writing. Not as much as I’d like and not nearly as regularly as I should, but it’s more than I’ve done in a while. So for those who remember and care and even for those that don’t, I am back.