Of course (as if it's as obvious as the last paragraph or more, even) there are more pages than the missing day/dates in the letters to J (and no, J is not Jackson, two different people on two different longitudes with two different lives and personalities and only similar down deep at the core where the heart is pure) because I was drawn to writing letters to J as much, if not more, than writing here because J responds and... well... just look at the comments left here over the last hundred entries or so (or more) and the dead silence from you, dear readers, is not much of a motivator when I am seeking motivation to babble on about all the little details of this life I loosely call mine (or any sort of daily life for that matter... did we just do a double take?) so one day the missing day/dates might be filled in... or maybe I'll just start a new blog called Letters to J or something like that.
It's laundry day.
That's right, I was all jazzed about cleaning last night and getting laundry done so I had energy. Laundry, however, has a history that brings back memories of family and my experience of family brings memories of immense joy and intense pain. Then a text comes wishing me a happy father's day from one of my adopted daughters. She's grown and I hear from her now and then and she's back in this city and thought of me on father's day. Sweet. So it's father's day, who knew? lol. Sweet.
About then I wandered over to Diaryland and started reminiscing a bit.
Then there was the time Andrew wrote the Diaryland Song and in those two links I think the whole experience of Diaryland is summed up well. Just a place to share yourself, a place to be yourself without pretenses or any sort of mass-market production. A place to be real, make mistakes, share successes, failures, joys, pains, and fun. A place to suck if you wanna lol.
Almost like LiveJournal or the old myspace blog, but more intimate and personal and private. And simpler. And still free and still there, even after all these years. That's a Canadian mind for you (and why I love and respect the basic Canadian mindset, mostly... Aussies too, for different reasons... yes, Kiwi's too... once in love with Kazzy... wait, we'll be hearing from Sharetruth and Childinside at this rate... can the mush be far behind?). Diaryland was and still is a place where people could become friends anonymously without it being an oxymoron.
Many hours later, many loads of laundry washed, dried, folded, and put on the shelves where they belong, many rivers to cross. I wandered Diaryland for a while and watched Rizzoli & Isles for a while. That was one of Jackson's favorite shows, maybe her favorite. I miss having a roommate. I miss having a TV watching friend. I miss having a softball partner. I miss having a dinner partner. I miss having someone to call in emergencies. I miss having family close. I miss having a best friend. Jackson was all that and more for me. Yeah, sigh. The final season of that show was emo, especially the last episode. A little like Family Guy in the last scene, but maybe that's just me.
Meanwhile, Diaryland (oh, was there a topic for this blog post?... or is it an entry... take me back, why dontcha) offered more hope for finding minds that might relate to mine. Babblers. Even if they are not as different as I am, hey, I know my mind wanders way off the beaten path of normalcy when there's no real world responsibilities to be taken care of and I really don't expect anyone to follow me there (oh, but we can dream), no less actually be there when I wander through the infinite possibilities, but it sure would be a wonderful surprise if someone related to the infinite possibilities with me. So many rules govern human existence (stop me before I vent), so many rules govern human thinking. Maybe some physical rules are immotile (and yet, can our laws of physics be unique to our universe or even our part of our universe?) but rules for thinking?
That just seems so restrictive for a mind. Sad, really.
Here's a human limit few discuss outside of anthropological sociological philosophy (discuss amongst yourselves), why do we restrict the human rights and freedoms of human children for 18 years or longer in our culture? Seems to me the actions of control freaks and people afraid of the potential leaps forward in human development that could happen if we allow minds to reach for the infinite possibilities when they have a whole lot more ability to learn than adults do. Instead, adults force feed what we call education and rules of thinking to children, breaking their spirits, even drugging them into submission and conformity. That could be considered child abuse from a child's perspective. Thank about it.
Anyway, Diaryland reminded me that there are people online who think differently. Perhaps the anonymity helps. I try to respect anonymity but I don't hide myself and maybe that's why some of my readers don't share much. I know a few told me so. Some didn't tell me until after I innocently cheered them with a link in my diary or blog and then after I removed the link they didn't trust me to keep them anonymous anymore. So I will continue repeating this...
If anyone linked in any of my writings does not want to be linked, please tell me and I will not link you. I link out of respect and admiration, but I can respect and admire without linking if that is your preference.
Yeah, meanwhile I should also have a disclaimer about my tendency to distract myself with mental multitasking for the fun of it until I push past my limits and lose track of what paths my mind wandered down simply because that is when I take leaps and combine random paths and every now and then something worthwhile comes of it. For better or worse, I wander off before I read a whole lot (between work and play and babbling I don't really have much time for reading, but I so l've the written word I want to correspond more like I used to... hundreds of pen pals once upon the time... even published pen pal magazines... where are you all now?).
So I decided to make notes here so I might return to writers I want to check out (like books from the library, but like a singles bar, sheesh) when I have more time (or maybe they will reach out to me and start a conversation and we'll find we are friends and inspire each other). I start at one of my favorites for many years, Dangerspouse, and let's see where this journey instigated by Mr. Spouse (and his favorites) takes us.
Misfit Stray (or is that Mis Fit Stray... or Mis Fits Tray, for that matter?... laughing, for again, so much and so little can be in a name, I enjoy the semantic game play and mean no harm) was the first stop and I either remember her from long ago in that vague memory of writing at Diaryland or she just feels like an old friend in some odd way, even. She moved and left no forwarding address. Fine start. There is an email though so perhaps I shall move to that after I finish babbling here (or maybe not as I don't want to start a communication I will just neglect due to lack of time... alas, so many correspondences have been left like dangling participles in the winds of time). Wait, upon further inspection (clicking the back button to her previous entry), I found she moved here to create her own world on her own server (or something like that.. I started out like that but got too lazy to maintain it so blogspot does it for me... save... a lot). Misfitsray is cool.
Ok, so she is back on the active writers to check outlist she returns. I shiver when I imagine where she lives though, snow on the ground in late April is an environment I left long ago. I am a tropical babbler.
Already side=tracked by who knows what, I am going to pause in the visitation and leave you with some writers I knew once upn a time who I stumbled upon tonight and am now wondering about (maybe it's a tribute):
Stepford Tart was one of the cast of the online soap opera a friend (Smash The Gas) wrote many years ago on Diaryland. I never made it on to her "Stuff I Like" list (I rarely do, probably because my babbling is so whatever it is and readers fall asleep or wander off before they remember my name, but I remember liking her and so I wonder). I hope she didn't die. I know we all die someday and it's a natural part of this life experience, but I always wish I had told people I enjoy reading how much I enjoy reading them after I find out they died. And then I read some notes and find out she died and pow, right in the heart. Don't I have sick timing. I know, it's not always all about me. Hopefully she is somewhere laughing in some form at my out-of-the-blue concern and knows it is sincere, even though it is so seldom expressed.
Speaking of the dead (with no ill intended, really) Hiss and Tell is gone, I mean her diary is locked (alas, it happens to the best of us), but she is also gone from the planet, I think. She was a joy to read (at least as much as Dangerspouse and sometimes more and Danger is one of my favorite reads, but his ego has had enough strokes and this is Hiss's bit (like what you can't tell?... don't hiss, this paragraph is made with love). Hiss would weave a tale with guttural class that always amused and usually gave me a feeling of a chocolate ping pong ball bouncing around in my head, only with purpose and meaning far beyond anything I ever put into words. I miss Hiss.
Then, keeping with the theme of gone, but in this case, hopefully not dead yet, there was Z0tl. Yes, Z0tl. Z0tl appears o have deleted or disabled all sign of his online creations which brings much sadness to my world (he inspired more than a few searches over the years. Ah, the wayback machine, one of these days. I hope he is still alive and doing something he enjoys and not too buried in darkness or pain. He did not know just how much of a creative genius he was (and could be) because modesty and cynicism combined to skew his view of himself (and love, modern medicine, and the immigration authorities all failed him), but I still remember enjoying the visit to the Kennedy Space Center when he visited Florida. Long Live Z0tl! May he return to the written world someday.
Smash The Gas is my hard rocking pedal to the floor friend from across the pond who created an online soap opera that put me in two rather prominent roles (was I exhibiting schizoid multiple personality disorder or did I really have an evil twin?... perhaps the story will continue one day and we will find out) that tickled me from heart to ego. I think he was reflecting my Candora and Candoor diaries and used his genius to combine and separate them into two characters that were somehow me squared. Besides the ego food, there was a lot of wonderful reading in Smash's diary. He was one beautiful monster. I still hope for more.
She was a Dandy Dandy she was. I hope she wasn't hurt by the water (seriously) and sadly, another link to another locked diary. Maybe she and the CuteThing and others I mention along the way will find this entry and send me a key cuz I really am going through a missy fit (as in missing you) at the moment. Who'da thought words could create such a bond in the brain. Not James Bond, more like memory epoxy on some synapses. My memory took my diaryland journey on a detour tonight and one of these nights (one of these long and lonely nights, even) I will return to the scene of the crime (what?... you thought there's be no link to the kindly old madman who started all this?... and no, I don't mean me, at least not this time) to continue the journey through Dangerspouse's favorites and links and wherever the random clicks might take me. I miss you Dandy, see how I had to distract myself with other memories just to keep from embarrassing you? Wonder Woman (yes you Dandy), where you are, I love you.
So if I say folding is ironing. Does that make me a bachelor?
Amazing what a good laundry day might bring, aye? And with that philosophical ponder, I shall bid you all a fond farewell until next time when I steal time from sleep to reminisce, revisit, or otherwise babble on through friendly writers and writing friends and whatever else mind may wonder. There will be no quiz, only the memory of the memories remembered memorably.
May we all be together again.
Narf :)
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