Many Contingencies

I don’t spend a lot of time discussing my own personal life in my blogging. I’m not sure why that is. I guess I’m generally a somewhat guarded person. I also don’t want to presume that the details of my life are interesting to others. When I share certain intimacies, it’s often with a degree of bombast, as if to proclaim my invulnerability: “Look at what I’m telling you, when I could be silently embarassed or ashamed – how ironclad I must be!” Which is, of course, bullshit. I’m terribly vulnerable, sensitive, and soft-bellied after my own fashion, although the distribution of these chinks in the armor follow no predictable pattern.

Tonight I’m alone, reeling after a week spent in a perpetual state of manic anxiety: illogical crying spells, discreet hyperventillation. School is back in session. Having been officially accepted into “the Program,” I look out over the next fifteen months with some imbalanced quantity of determination and terror. I have a limited amount of time to accomplish an absurdly huge roster of goals, many (most?) of which are self-imposed.

I want to keep blogging. I think it’s important to my overall growth as a thinker. It also helps my sanity, and makes me feel connected to some kind of rather ambiguous audience.

What else can I tell you? My dog shit on the carpet while I was indulging in some therapeutic shopping tonight. I hate wall-to-wall carpet, and would happily engage in a radical uprising constituted solely of the theft and incineration of all wall-to-wall carpeting in the greater PDX area. There is no adequate way to permanently and thoroughly clean liquid feces out of wall-to-wall carpeting. Let me just clarify that for curious bystanders. No. Adequate. Way.

I broke another wine glass while trying to bash open one of the turban squash from the volunteer vine growing out of the compost heap. (The most successful plant in my largely abandoned vegetable garden project was utterly unplanned. There’s a lesson there. Let me just tap my metaphorical finger to my metaphorical temple – a lesson.) I have managed to break all of the glasses that were actually constructed for the consumption of wine. Soon I will be drinking my favorite red beverage out of crude clay mugs and shot glasses, tea cups and salad bowls.

As you may have sussed, the lack of a truly appropriate vessel didn’t keep me from the grapes. I’m now going to attempt a trick, a flourish, a sleight-of-hand – I’m going to try to pull a less self-indulgent-and-pathetically-autobiographical blogpost out of my ass! Can I do it? That remains to be seen… It may not go up until tomorrow.