industrial guilt
I walked the 3 miles to the doughnut shop, again. Yes, I did eat a doughnut --after telling Gail I would not. I also drank an obnoxiously large Sierra Mist.
From there, I walked to McHenry village. I figure that trek was about 2-3 miles. And then, I sort of meandered on home, another 2-3 miles. My estimate is that I walked about 8 or 9 miles total this evening.
I'm not writing to brag. Quite the contrary. The problem, with so much walking, is that it isn't necessarily done for exercise or because I had a companion. When you walk as slow as I do, when you smoke cigarettes and use walking as an excuse to drink soda, you're not in it for the health of it. Nor, as I've been indicating by my long rambles on loneliness, am I doing it with anyone. So, where does that leave me?
Quite honestly, it just gives me something to do. The last time I was this bored, this alone, and walking this much, I was in Santa Cruz. It was Spring 2008 and I was walking in memory of Spring 2007. I really haven't walked this much, this consistently, in that long. Back then, as I recall, I was also busy chain-smoking.
These walks are especially reminiscent of Spring 2007. I walked so much then, to get over the pain of ending my longest, most serious, relationship. To date, it is still my longest, and most serious relationship. I've really, nominally, only had one relationship since then. But I've had over 90% of my sexual partners since then.
What pain am I walking to expunge from my soul, hoping to replace it with needless calories from soda and perhaps inch my way to some sort of smoking-related illness? Well, I won't bore you with details; I've only been writing about it for a month now.
It's all quite odd, really. My third walk to the doughnut shop in as many weeks. Each time I go, I carry with me my copy of All That Is Solid Melts Into Air: The Experience of Modernity, by Marshall Berman. I chose that book for a multitude of reasons, among them the fact that I've owned it since Winter 2005 and have yet to read it. Also, because Modernity is especially on my mind these days. But, foremost, like all plans of nature, it fits comfortably into my back pocket. In sum, it is the perfect design: a timely, shapely, meditation on modernity and what it means to live in these times.
I don't like the term post-modern. I'm not even sure I like the term modern, really. I'm not sure what I like. I do know, however, that the more I read about it, the less I like Marxism. On the other hand, I'm at least able to read about Marxism; I've purchased a few Libertarian books over the years, but not been able to even crack them open (notably one by Hayek, The Road to Serfdom). I also have a book or two on anarchism, and have, also, yet to read those.
I'm not sure what I read, really. My books show a hodgepodge of interests and designs. But I don't want to write about that. I imagine these topics will be on my mind for the rest of my life.
Instead, I leave you with an embellishment of a twitter.
As I was walking home, less than a mile from home, I was going by the park. Well, lo and behold, someone called out "hi, Michael." To which, not to be rude --and, almost as a reflex, really --called back "Hello" as I tried to see who it was for maybe a second, then I continued on my way home. I have no idea who it was. They wern't alone. There were, as I recall, 3 of them. When I looked in their direction, one of them waved. But was it the one who spoke? Who were these people? Why did I only hear one voice?
Those are truly the questions that will be on my mind as I try to sleep. Here I am, complaining about my isolation, and lo and behold, someone punctured it with a simple greeting. I may never know who that person was, as I don't have a facebook for them to harass me on, nor do I think that person had my number. But who was it? I know it was a male voice. That's all I really know.
I guess I just wanted to write about how I'm an asshole. I just wonder, however, if I had stopped, and tried to figure out who it was and gauge from there, might something positive have had happened? I don't know. Maybe all that would have happened would be that they wouldn't think me an asshole, and maybe, just maybe, some sort of son-of-a-bitch.
Oh, and Betty Ford is dead.
From there, I walked to McHenry village. I figure that trek was about 2-3 miles. And then, I sort of meandered on home, another 2-3 miles. My estimate is that I walked about 8 or 9 miles total this evening.
I'm not writing to brag. Quite the contrary. The problem, with so much walking, is that it isn't necessarily done for exercise or because I had a companion. When you walk as slow as I do, when you smoke cigarettes and use walking as an excuse to drink soda, you're not in it for the health of it. Nor, as I've been indicating by my long rambles on loneliness, am I doing it with anyone. So, where does that leave me?
Quite honestly, it just gives me something to do. The last time I was this bored, this alone, and walking this much, I was in Santa Cruz. It was Spring 2008 and I was walking in memory of Spring 2007. I really haven't walked this much, this consistently, in that long. Back then, as I recall, I was also busy chain-smoking.
These walks are especially reminiscent of Spring 2007. I walked so much then, to get over the pain of ending my longest, most serious, relationship. To date, it is still my longest, and most serious relationship. I've really, nominally, only had one relationship since then. But I've had over 90% of my sexual partners since then.
What pain am I walking to expunge from my soul, hoping to replace it with needless calories from soda and perhaps inch my way to some sort of smoking-related illness? Well, I won't bore you with details; I've only been writing about it for a month now.
It's all quite odd, really. My third walk to the doughnut shop in as many weeks. Each time I go, I carry with me my copy of All That Is Solid Melts Into Air: The Experience of Modernity, by Marshall Berman. I chose that book for a multitude of reasons, among them the fact that I've owned it since Winter 2005 and have yet to read it. Also, because Modernity is especially on my mind these days. But, foremost, like all plans of nature, it fits comfortably into my back pocket. In sum, it is the perfect design: a timely, shapely, meditation on modernity and what it means to live in these times.
I don't like the term post-modern. I'm not even sure I like the term modern, really. I'm not sure what I like. I do know, however, that the more I read about it, the less I like Marxism. On the other hand, I'm at least able to read about Marxism; I've purchased a few Libertarian books over the years, but not been able to even crack them open (notably one by Hayek, The Road to Serfdom). I also have a book or two on anarchism, and have, also, yet to read those.
I'm not sure what I read, really. My books show a hodgepodge of interests and designs. But I don't want to write about that. I imagine these topics will be on my mind for the rest of my life.
Instead, I leave you with an embellishment of a twitter.
As I was walking home, less than a mile from home, I was going by the park. Well, lo and behold, someone called out "hi, Michael." To which, not to be rude --and, almost as a reflex, really --called back "Hello" as I tried to see who it was for maybe a second, then I continued on my way home. I have no idea who it was. They wern't alone. There were, as I recall, 3 of them. When I looked in their direction, one of them waved. But was it the one who spoke? Who were these people? Why did I only hear one voice?
Those are truly the questions that will be on my mind as I try to sleep. Here I am, complaining about my isolation, and lo and behold, someone punctured it with a simple greeting. I may never know who that person was, as I don't have a facebook for them to harass me on, nor do I think that person had my number. But who was it? I know it was a male voice. That's all I really know.
I guess I just wanted to write about how I'm an asshole. I just wonder, however, if I had stopped, and tried to figure out who it was and gauge from there, might something positive have had happened? I don't know. Maybe all that would have happened would be that they wouldn't think me an asshole, and maybe, just maybe, some sort of son-of-a-bitch.
Oh, and Betty Ford is dead.