Checking in

Twice in the past week or so I've discovered that two people I've known for years (mostly online, not so much in person) were at the center of some major, even legendary events.  It's a little mind-blowing.

That's the first thing I came to write about.  The second is something that someone I play Scrabble with online pointed me in the direction of a Humans of New York episode.  I watched it this morning and found myself completely identifying with a man sitting and writing in a park about how lonely he is and how he just wants to make some friends.  Or at least a friend.  And that he doesn't know how.

That's me.  I'm having trouble keeping the old ones, in some ways, let alone making new ones.  I fear that I lean too heavily on some friends because there's so few others who take up the slack, if you will, of my loneliness.

Oddly, other than recognizing myself in this man, which I suspect a great many people do, I didn't start to feel sorry for myself and get depressed.  This is just the way my life is.  If I knew how to change it, I would.  But it seems to require a whole personality transplant and I don't think those are available.  Certainly not in my price range.  : )

I also feel myself moving towards another change in my life.  I thought it would be getting back to exercise, but now I'm coming down with a cold, so that may have to wait another week or so.  But I'm doing more tai chi again, whew.  I haven't lost that, that makes me feel good.

Anyway, getting to write something here is also something to feel good about.

Ciao for now.

Once again, I'm checking back in to this blog that no one reads.  Except, of course, some Russians.

Hmmm.

Anyway, tomorrow I go to the Brooklyn College commencement to hear, among others, but most especially:  Bernie Sanders.

I am incredibly excited.  Can't decide what to wear.  Should I wear makeup?  I do know someone graduating tomorrow and then there's the kid whose ticket has been gifted to me.  Have to figure out what time I need to leave.  There's so much else I should be doing tomorrow, and stuff I will need to do once I get back home.  But I don't care.  I need this balm for my political soul.

Took a while to find this site again, that's how long it's been.  Glad to see it's still here.

Must go now, work to do.

In order to write...

In order to write, one must: write.

I've been envious of people writing about their past, especially when they write so very, very well.  I would like to write that well, although I fear writing about my past.  One friend, who is a published author, after all, is writing about the story behind her books, among other things.  She's doing this more or less chronologically.  There's no way I could be that coherent.  I can barely remember half the things that happened, let alone in what order. Another friend writes--or, wrote, I think she may have stopped--in groups of five, each group around a chosen theme.  Even if I thought I could do that, that'd just be copying her and I don't want to do that.

So, here's what I'll do: I'll write these stories as they occur to me.  The only problem will be thinking of them and holding onto what the story was that I wanted to tell long enough to actually get to the computer to write them down.

Which, sorry, is not the case at the moment.  I started out with an idea and, poof, it's now gone.

In memoriam

I was thinking about doing a new blog post recently, about how some of my friends are doing neat things that aren't work-related, volunteering for good causes and how I missed doing that and wanted to find something to do, myself.

And now I've come face-to-face with the death of one of the most important people in my life: Leonard Nimoy.  Mr. Spock got me through such an incredibly difficult time of my life as a teenager and I know that that was an actor's job, but he turned out to be such a mensch in real life (as I've gathered from things I've read and heard over the years) that he became an inspiration to my adult self, as well.

I knew I would be upset at his passing, but I'm really quite devastated.  I was at the gym, waiting for a class to start when I checked my email and another fan had emailed me.  I checked the Times' site and, yes, it was true.  I burst into tears and couldn't stop sobbing for a few minutes.  People came over to ask if I was all right and I managed to tell them, yes, I was, really, I was fine.  Because I couldn't expect them to understand that I was crying because an actor had died, even such a famous one.  I couldn't expect them, especially the younger ones, to understand what he meant to me.

So, yes, I loved the character and I came to love the actor.  I hope his passing was easy.  It is painful to think he's no longer on this planet.  Someone else I know is marking the fourth anniversary of her husband's suicide.  This is completely different, of course, but now I will share her mourning on this day in years to come.

And in Spock's honor, I will look for ways to help other people.  The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few ... or the one.

Not doing

I need to write.  It kinda doesn't matter where or even what, but this is one of the many things I need to be doing that I'm not, in fact, doing.

Sigh.

Not for publication

Yeah, it wasn't ready fo publication.  I copied it and stored it someplace before deleting it from here, but the one person I know who might have read it (and some Russians, maybe????) will just have to wonder.  Ha!