Tag: Self-indulgence

Think of the internet as a universe. I’ve heard it described before as an ecosystem – what sentient being, by the way, would accept caretaking responsibilities for such a sprawling, labyrinthine mess?* – but, in reality, it’s a universe. Cold, distant, infinite. In this self-serving and admittedly limited analogy, every person and business entity becomes a planet all their own. Some of these veritably teem with “life”, being located closer to the sun – some of them so prominent (read: popular) they practically generate their own additional heat – though the majority exist in a state of imposed isolation tucked away on the margins, just so many thumbtack pin pricks struggling for light and oxygen against an enormous expanse of black felt. Continue reading “Post No. 225: Destinata Non Grata” →

Rarely, if ever, does someone voluntarily set out to perform a personal accounting, of faults, of foibles, of general things that, yeah, it might be helpful to change in some way. Too long have I defined myself as much or more in terms of the many, many, MANY things I love than through the people I love. If the current COVID-19 pandemic, and the various hardships and restrictions it has heaped by the double-handful upon modern life – which have amounted to an unqualified hard stop for me on so many of those “things” in question – has had any silver lining (and it would be unseemly to linger on them, if so), it would be just the one: I talk to my parents much more frequently now than I did a mere four months ago. Nothing else really changed, in terms of scheduling. My priorities just reset, more or less spontaneously, in accordance with the current world order. Continue reading “Housing (out) – A Father’s Day Field Report” →

Every 25th post, darkadaptedeye takes a planned break from normal business to plumb the shallow depths of its author’s psyche and/or overtly explore the locked attic of memories it only ever really dabbles in otherwise. You might think of it as a pit stop, or maybe a soft reboot. In “Danse Macabre”, Stephen King termed his own such digression “An Annoying Autobiographical Pause”, which I choose to think was kind of charming. Please know I take seriously the challenge of making patent self-indulgence interesting – actual results be damned – and I appreciate you being game. We’ll return to our irregularly scheduled programming shortly…

Professional musician, professional counselor, semi-professional cheerleader – it was my father who, long ago, instilled in me the central tenet by which, though so far removed now from the rolling hills where I spent my childhood, I have nevertheless carved out some semblance of a happy life as an adult: always have something to look forward to. Through repeated and jarring market fluctuations in both the professional and romantic sectors, I have intermittently thrived but stayed consistently afloat, clinging to that piece of advice like driftwood on the open sea. I’ve always been a solitary sort – introspective and dry, shy and goofy, practitioner of deadpan sarcasm and proponent of laid back empathy – more conversationalist as counterpuncher than raconteur. Continue reading “Post No. 200: Pay Attention to the Road” →

Every 25^th post, darkadaptedeye takes a planned break from normal business to plumb the shallow depths of its author’s psyche and/or overtly explore the locked attic of memories it only ever really dabbles in otherwise. You might think of it as a pit stop, or maybe a soft reboot. In “Danse Macabre”, Stephen King termed his own such digression “An Annoying Autobiographical Pause”, which I choose to think was kind of charming. Please know I take seriously the challenge of making patent self-indulgence interesting – actual results be damned – and I appreciate you being game. We’ll return to our irregularly scheduled programming shortly…

You can’t get here from there. Believe me, I’ve tried.

What you are currently reading is the third drastically different iteration of/attempt at DAE’s milestone 150^th post – labored over, intermittently but to an insipid degree, over a five-month hiatus during which bystander and well-wisher alike could’ve been forgiven for believing I’d abandoned the store entirely instead of merely neglecting it shamefully. Continue reading “Post No. 150: Various Forks in the Road (v.3)” →