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As some may know I've sort of gone on a little sabbatical
lately, hoping to get some fiction done. As it turns out
I haven't been too successful at that. All of the things
surrounding my lens replacement surgery, as well as a bad
case of bronchitis, have gotten in the way. I have posted
a few things. But not as many as normal, not as many as
before. Which I guess fits in with the fact that I have
been at least trying to write on this break.

But I was thinking today about blogging, about writing,
and about my life as it is, as it has become. And it
occurred to me that I might never go back to doing the
quantity of posts that I did before.

Simply put, I feel my world has grown very small. It isn't
filled with a lot — pretty much no friends except my online
friends and my dog, my travels mostly limited to the doctor
or the grocery or the trash dumpster.

Most of that, I have to admit, is by choice. I don't have
the financial means to visit exotic lands, but I could go
up to Manito Park or (what the hell) Northtown Mall. There's
nothing standing in the way of that. It's simply that I don't
do those things, don't get motivated to do them, don't want
to get motivated to do them. And the same holds really for
friends. The sad fact is that I really don't care whether
I see my old friends anymore. I think our lives have diverged
from each other; and I think it was necessary for me to let
go of some of the ties to this world.

Looking at my blog posts over the past few months I
see very little variety. Mostly stuff about my health,
my dog, or music. And even when it comes to music there
isn't that much variety there. I've noticed over the past
years that the narrowness of my musical playlist is pretty
much common to me during periods when I'm not socializing.
It's like a collapsing star. That is why I have been doing
so many posts on Valentina Lisitsa — simply because her
recordings are part of a very narrow range of music that
I am listening to. There is more, of course: Tharaud's
recording of Rameau's piano suites, as well as about a
half dozen works by Brahms. That's really about it.

And so, given that my blog reflects my life — how could
it not? — there really hasn't been much for me to post on.

I know that there are others out there who are in a similar
situation, though perhaps for different reasons. I can't
speak for those, of course, but as it goes for me I have
definitely been in a melancholy mood lately. There have been
some very good things happen to me recently, like the new
lens implants. But none of it has been enough to overthrow
the melancholy.

But that is the way it is. And it is really no more profound
than that. Although I guess that we could make it so, sing a
hymn, recite a poem

And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The Hairy Gown and Mossy Cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell,
Of every Star that Heav'n doth shew,
And every Herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like Prophetic strain.
These pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.

In any case I've been around on this planet long enough
now that I would never rule out any future contingents
that might be floating around out there. Who knows, this
time next year I might be running all over the place,
laughing, happy as a clam, slapping friends on the back,
checking out the prices on a new pair of skis…

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