good morning... I browsed around a bit this morning, catching up on some old favorites (and of course dreaming of knowing the people behind the words better because I am so totally in love with their minds) while Precious sleeps on the couch cuz Rasputin would not be able to get up from the couch if he and his aching back slept on it... poor guy... he goes for regular chiropractic adjustments and has had xrays and just got an MRI done, results saying surgery is not necessary... they are still looking for the right method of treatment so he can sit in a movie theatre with us without it feeling like a horror show... somehow he still moves a few thousand pounds of fresh and frozen seafood around at work every day (cuz the upper managerment at the Seafood wholesaler where he works does not realize that a shipping manager needs to supervise more than actually load trucks and then they wonder why they are telling Rasputin that he's doing too much of the loading/unloading)... backs are weird... they seem to hurt most when they are not in use...

anyway, I quietly woke from my nine hour nap and slipped into my big green chair to visit with you for a bit before they woke up to fill Saturday with fun and excitement... if I am wise I will get down to the gym as soon as it opens (I know insurance costs are the reason the gym is no longer 24 hour access, but that still sucks for us night people) since I did not get there yesterday due to changing my circadian rhythm again (that's the routine that is not a routine, if you follow, that keeps me from working out daily... somehow I do not think it is wise to push the body/heart to maximum limits when it has not been allowed to sleep for more than twenty four hours, but then, what do I know)...

and I was thinking about writing as I sat here listening to sleeping breathing...

sometimes I think of writing is an investment in something... maybe in knowing myself and hopefully someday sharing myself... as if every moment of this life that I live is worth sharing... as if every moment is worth recording for catch-up.. as if every moment is part of who I am, part of all I want to give to someone... share with someone... someday... somehow... somewhere...

this diary is the daily routine... the mundane details... the little things... the unfiltered, uncreative, unformatted, unadulterated, (uncooperative?) attempt to share everything with someone during this time when nobody is around in the physical spaces who wants to share everything with me...

does that make any sense to anyone?...

and Rasputin just woke and he and his diet pepsi walked over to his computer where he sits and farts and does his thing... he doesn't write... I think he reads mail, browses websites, plays fantasy sports and solitaire... he knows I diary/journal, but I don't know if he reads... I use his computer sometimes and so the addresses are in his address window, pages are in his cache... he doesn't mention it... we all have our hobbies, our time-consuming activities that we use to fill the void, the time we spend alone with ourselves... a lot of us spend a lot of time on computers (on computers, as if we sit on them?... well, semantically it may be more accurate to call it in computers, but then that is even more of a stretch when reading the words literally... and I do tend to find humor in reading literally more often than not... what do we mean, anyway, in anything we say or do?... ah, but it is not time for a philosophical tangent just now)...

us DLand (or any diary/journal community) folk have a common, as in similar, hobby... for some it's a lark, an ego trip, a work of art... for some it's a memorial... for some of us it is an addiction, for others an obsession, for some maybe even a prayer... for me it is a hope... a hope that somebody will stumble into my web of words someday and find me and more... find me to be the one they have searched for to complete their journey through this life... we all have a purpose, even if we do not want one... even if we do not choose one... my purpose, by choice even though I don't think I had much choice deep down because I never wanted anything else nearly as much, is to share life in love, to share intimacy and completely open honesty in every moment with someone else who can and wants to do the same thing with me... such is the relationship I seek in this life... this is what I really want to do with this life most of all...

so as far-fetched as it seems, I write to record the life, to explore my hopes and dreams and desires, and to share every moment I am here when I am alone... and sometimes I wonder if I am alone because I write and maybe so, for my love of and dependancy on words places a prerequisite on the one I seek to be as much in love with words and reading and writing as I am so we can communicate and record our shared lives when we finally start sharing... this is why there is candora, where the dreams are live (and are nurtured without interference from the mundane details and frustrations and bumps of life)...

through words, I communicate the journey... much of it is repetitive routine... I suppose there might be some form of art in trying to make the brushing of teeth or the wiping of one's anus a unique and interesting read, but that is not why I am here... at least not today... it is to release myself into words without thinking about the process as form or structure or how the words might be read... it is to record life without thinking about who might read or what reactions might be... I know I mean no harm, that is enough... it is to prove I was here, to be real even when real is boring or monotonous or apparently worthless...

here, in this dairy, I write to keep in touch with my fingers, to keep my fingers in touch with the other twenty-odd hours of each day... to remind myself that I am just a poor shlub riding the bus on my way through life, just another character in the play I write with every breath I take, every move I make... just another hopeful friend looking for another hopeful friend, looking for a mate, looking for the answer found in someone else's eyes... trying to make my way home...

to read is a great adventure... to write is a great adventure and interactive experience... to live in and out of words, that is the greatest adventure and experience of all... but to share it all, that is my dream...

and why I write...

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)