Someone I know once said, "The beauty of a blog is that it waits for you." Well, waiting it has been. For a long time now I didn't bother to step in these awkward halls of unfolding adolescence, each step louder that the last, and all the same completely mute.
Today is the first day of the coldest winter I know. The northern winter, to be more specific. Late last night the wind came, and with it, the harsher points of autumn's fading fire. Though winter has not officially started for me it has. I come from southern regions and this temperature, this nature driven mood is befitting to my understanding of winter. And too, since I return to this place of words it occurs to me that winter is the perfect place for one to reflect. The soft glow of 60 watt bulbs, the frost on the window, the warm cooking smells that linger for hours without fresh ventilation; all these things cater to the thoughts, locked indoors we all are to be thinking them then. I am a little older now. 24 and finally watching aspects of life slow done. For instance my ability to drink. My metabolism slowing down shows growth outward more that upward. And all those little cigarettes I smoked leave me breathing a little heavy up three flights of stairs, where I now reside. Too, all things sharing. To live with a woman, and notice the subtleties of mood, calculations of affectionate acts and meaning in everything where once lay simple distraction or want of fulfillment. Since this is my own blog and my own proverbial "wealth of thoughts" I just want to say that I believe that man will never fully understand woman, and woman will never fully understand man. The complexities of each delegate their natures so that we are always just barely skating the surface of what seems an impenetrable ocean of knowledge. Of course, that too could just be a bunch of bullshit, but whose reading this anyways? All of my former readers I'm sure have found this place comatose too many times since the last heart throb to be coming here anymore. I come sometimes. I wonder about myself. I wonder who I was however long ago I read. I smile, laugh, feel anguish, reminisce. I wonder who I am now, and who I will be five years from now. After all, it has been over three years since I began this blog. Three years of memory, experience and change. That in itself seems a small sort of accomplishment. But the vague interests of a Sunday afternoon seem fleeting as I write these last few lines and I feel myself pulled away by either commerce, a cigarette, (I haven't given them up yet, but a few close calls) or simply a little work and Hemingway and perhaps a hot cup of coffee before the day is done.
Until the next time,
C.A.
