there was a time in this life when I would have loved being online so much more than I do today, a time when I was networking through the mail, through small magazines I published and through LEX (a wonderful idea that a guy named Steve put into the real world back in the early eighties and after he put it to bed almost twenty years later, new people took it over and... well, I'm probably going to join again very soon and if you enjoy snail mail, it's a wonderful way to meet friends and share through snail mail)... I published a similar magazine back then called Paper Fantasies (copies of which are in that storage facility I've mentioned occasionally {occasionally?... heck, I used to whine about it often... guess it's getting better all the time... still, I wish I found the means to move the stuff closer to me... nothing a big truck and a couple of weeks couldn't do... but I don't have an extra few thousand dollars laying around at the moment so I'll leave this parentheses within a parentheses before another parentheses comes along and I start whining some more} along with the rest of the physical remnants of a rather wonderful life) and also newsletters called The Writer's Exchange and Poetic License... anyone who happens to remember them, hi again.. miss you... write to me about it if you like (I'd like)...

anyway, during those days I had so much more time for fun cuz I didn't have to work... I wrote upon waking and upon retiring... in between I ran, danced, explored life, and shared moments of opportunities as the winds of chance blew them... the routine was without schedule, without limits... it was a good time... I wrote a dozen or more letters and mailed them through the Postal Service every day, hundreds a month... I got to know people all over the world and grew close to many, a few of whom have found me again in this online life... I lost touch with most when I put everything in storage and, through confusing and unfortunate circumstances, lost vital stuff (including their addresses) in Toronto... I buried the memories of the fun and precious bonds I found through sharing snail mail... maybe this is the start of resurfacing for parts of me that are more creative and more personal than I've been in years... that might be nice...

twenty four hours is a cycle doomed to too frequent repetition...

this is what I was thinking about when I came here to think about what happened yesterday (and why this entry took an extra day to get written and upload)... work, the gym, sleep, that's what happened... that's all that happens most days of this life... that is not nice... very sad... feels like a waste of time...

so to continue, I have to focus on what I do with my work time and point out to myself that I do good things for others, that people with serious problems in their heads and lives rely on me to keep them as safe as possible through the night when they are often most afraid and hopefully the people working during the day and evening can help them work through their confusions and fears so they can emerge from their darkness into some semblence of a life free of institutions or dependency on drugs... yes, maybe a few dozen or more lives will be saved by what I do for work... maybe a few thousand over the course of a lifetime of such work... this feels good...

and still, my personal life offline is so limited, feeling so empty... maybe it's the Beatles music I've been listening to as I copy more library CDs... remembering another yesterday when all my troubles seemed so far away... remembering the magic music and words brought to me and the sharing... there's so little time to explore beyond the small circle around home and work... the wanderer in me mournes the loss of the travel I adored... the creative spirit in me mournes the loss of the variety and sponteneity of inspirations I treasure... the lover mournes the time unshared... and the child yawns and asks when we can next come out to play...

so here in words I play and hopefully I am not completely alone in my play... though mostly it is literary fantasy, it is still inspiring feelings inside and feelings are real even if they are not shared... even if we do not touch hand to hand, perhaps we touch heart to heart and that is much better than nothing... and that is what i remember when i come here feeling alone.. when I feel like mourning... when I feel I am missing something vital to life...

I am thankful for the sharing that is...

and for you...

and hopeful that there will be time for more...

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