This blog isn't seeing as much action. It's not for lack of time or lack of desire, it's for lack of content. I haven't been back to the plasma center in over a month. I'm not taking my lunch at Manna Meal and there's a whole section of my life I don't blog about either for legal reasons or for a nagging sense of propriety. I'm working on killing that, but it takes time.
This blog is best when I put myself out there. Going outside of my comfort zone gives me space to move, to think and define my angst (among other things). Some of you like the angst. I like my angst. I like holding up my sad little broken heart for the world to see. I like screaming until all I've got left is a silly giggle.
I don't come here to complain. I come here to explain, to explore and to maybe make sense of it all --or at least have a couple of laughs at my expense.
So, I've been looking around for things to get into. Sure, I'm actually training for a triathlon, but big fucking deal. That's just exercise. I'm eating less meat. I haven't actually bought any animal flesh in two weeks and have only consumed a little incidentally, as I was trying to get rid of it. I'm rich enough to not have to sell my blood, but I'm too poor to throw away five dollars worth of ham. However, this is really just another exercise.
None of it makes me really uncomfortable. None of it alters my perception, improves my view or grants me an insight I don't already hold.
But I saw a sign up downtown, I need to find it again, it's for a rugby club. Do I know how to play rugby? No. My general impression is that it's a group of rough men fighting over a ball. It's an invitation to a beating, maybe. I don't know. Maybe that's what I'm hoping for. Maybe that's what I need: a reason and a means to riot.
Maybe it's not what I need, but I figure it's what I can have.