in my time of dyin’

Found a copy of House shoved into a back drawer of an abandoned desk at work. It was covered in dust and notes, post-its folded and worn stuck out past the pages. The page with the author’s name on it had fallen out and was rubber-banded to the back. And all I could think was, “so that’s what this Autumn is going to be like.”

Autumn has always been my favorite season. The cooling off, the clear change, the wiping of a slate to tabula rasa again. Death is the Road to Awe. You have to have an end to have a beginning, and I’ve always been smitten with the head space of a fresh sheet.

But something is different this time. There are people-shaped holes in my universe, and the clone tool isn’t working. The dodge and smudge are making it tolerable, but there seems to be a lock on the layer I want to change. Which I suppose it part of growing up, of moving, of making solid decisions that lock in how you relate to people.

There are lots of neat people here, and I need to be happy with how I relate to them, how I build my community here, but I miss things.

I miss gin and The Prisoner, English Breakfast and Anonymous 4.
I miss bare feet on the reservoir, huddling under blankets on the back porch.
I miss crafties and games at the Spoon.
I miss late night Venn Diagrams on glass tables, running for the quote book, Katamari on the couch.

Every choice I make has stark consequences, seemingly more-so than in the past. I can’t do everything I want – I don’t have the time, energy, or money. And each choice makes it more difficult to chose a different path later on (not impossible, mind you). With so much weighing on each choice, sometimes I feel like not making any at all. But then it’s even more time and energy wasted.

It’s time to play blind-folded roshambo with the Future. And I think I may still win. Because it’s better than smoking a cigarette blindfolded and wondering what all the clicking is about.