Passion Fruit, Overipe

My passion for anything of late has been sadly lacking. I do not know if this is a consequence of age, circumstance, the constant stress I find myself under, or the low normal testosterone levels my DO has accused me of having, but it sucks all the same. I vaguely remember the fire that burned within me concerning matters of love, lust, adventure, whatever strange trip I undertook at those given times, yet the effect such emotions had upon my pulse rate are but a distant memory to me now. Perhaps my master control center has accepted some sense of resignation and has adjusted my brain chemistry accordingly in order to preserve my sanity. Perhaps that is a good thing. I am certainly in no position to suddenly find myself in the grip of some wanderlust, some post-midlife crisis that can only be sated by abandoning my sinking ship and swimming with the mermaids, for in that direction lurks pain for one other if not just myself when the inevitable falling down comes to claim me and smite me for my foolishness. Ahhhh....but one can craft such fine daydreams from such longing, can one not?

I have not read a good book in awhile. But thanks to Netflix, an affordable alternative to cable or satellite when you can't fit that monthly ransom in the budget, I do get to enjoy an occasional happy ending to ease my unease at what the future holds for me in these last few decades of my performance this time around on planet Earth. I seriously need to consider whether or not giving up watching or listening to the news would be a wise move, considering that the ratio of good news to bad as so sadly out of kilter these days. They say that what you don't know can't hurt you, but I have always been a firm believer in knowing what to try and dodge and when, rather than risk getting blind-sided in ignorant bliss. However, it has become painfully apparent that knowing how terribly wrong things are going and being able to do anything about it are two completely different things, the former, being terribly good at, unfortunately has no bearing on the later, which I am not. So, why worry? Perhaps the people who were pulling the Gipper's strings were geniuses after all, getting what's his name to put out that snappy little tune, "Don't worry, be happy!"

The current crisis in national identify, the environment, consumerism, etc, are meaningless if in addition to all that, it's just window dressing on the surprise ending starring the killer asteroid which has our name on it. So, knowing that entire ecosystems and most of the creatures that inhabited them have come and gone with fair regularity over the course of geologic history, perhaps it is pointless to worry over the ultimate fate of the current residents. Perhaps it is pointless to worry what effect energy prices will have on interest rates. Perhaps it is pointless to worry whether or not American Idol will be subcontracted to run our next election. Perhaps it is pointless to worry whether or not The Michael made the slightest dent in the fabric of time, space, or the memories of those who stumbled across him while playing with the next button.

I have been equally silly to think that people I know, even my wife, have given weight to the idea of keeping up with my thought processes by reading my blog. It is strange that the people closest to you are the ones least likely to go out of their way to see what you are up to out here in blogville. Perhaps that is why we ARE out here, because we know that those who do read us are not tainted by any vested interest in doing so. Does that make sense? It does to me, though I'm not sure why. And when I do become somewhat used to visiting with any particular blogger, much like expecting that sunday paper to be there on the doorstep, and then it's not, it's similar to being jilted by some lover who you think has suddenly tired of you. There are withdrawal symptoms, and you hate yourself for projecting onto these more or less complete strangers some need you don't even recognize in yourself, much less admit to. So you take a deep breath, get your bearings, and realize that blogging is as fluid a state of relationship as any you have with flesh and blood people that you interact with on a daily basis. They have their own self-contained lives, that don't include you; they share a laugh, they shed some light, and then they move on, and you try and remember them, these wraiths you came to value so much, perhaps for no valid reason other than the smile they brought to your grey day when you needed it most.

Just thank Bob for them, and get back to the keyboard, for you just might be bringing a smile to someone just like you, for reasons only they could know, and that's a good enough thing when all is said and done.