Es gibt kein zurück...
So I had joined facebook, and I was really enjoying that particular social networking format - including the well done information technology design aspects of it (ask me why MySpace is the fucking kazoo if you really want my opinion on that) - but with their recent malignant and despotic changes to their ToS, I'm not interested in participating there anymore. Should they take some enlightenment and tone down their absurdly overreaching policy, no doubt I'll go back. (Update: Apparently, before even finishing writing and publishing this post, I've discovered that facebook has reverted their ToS to the previous version. Concomitantly, I have reäctivated my account, but I will be watching closely. Man, what a short-lived hiatus; that wasn't even 24 hours.)
I did, however, find myself particularly enjoying participating more actively in an online community again - and on top of that, I've been enjoying writing, even if only in small bits. As such, I'm going to make an attempt to resurrect my LiveJournal. I know, you're just beamish at the very prospect, right? (Despite the update with regards the facebook status [lol I'm funny], I'm going to try to return to LJ as well anyway, though I can't warranty that I'll be reading my f-list all that often.)
Not necessarily going to be writing all that much, but definitely going to make a concerted effort to spend 10-15 minutes a day on it writing about the inanity of what my cognition touches on over the course of 24 hrs.
Yesterday evening, when I came to this decision to come back to LJ (I was lying in bed after having stayed up nearly two hours after turning into a pumpkin [which happens at 11pm if you're wondering], and only had been up so late because I was [as I have been far too often of late] talking to an altogether præternaturally worthwhile boy in KCMO), I mused that I should write about that particular day, but as I was curled up in bed with my already-shut-off computer across the room from me, that simply was NOT going to happen.
So here goes: I went for a walk, yesterday. It wasn't just any walk, it was a desperately needed walk through the woods of my father's estate (doesn't it just sound so classy to call it an "estate"?) - 40 acres of mostly woods, with some grass, a 2 acre pond, and a sizeable chunk of swamp. Now this wasn't a Tammy TerAvest powerwalk with foam-padded handweights and matching tracksuit; this was a cathartic spiritual venture with all the visual and introspective aesthetic of Hemingway (nevermind how much I can't fucking stand his literary aesthetic). I took off to the north trail first, figuring the skittish half-dozen deer gamboling about were as good a sign as any on where to start. Getting through up to the edge of the property line, I was enjoying crunching through the thin layer of remaining snow, trying to enjoy it for what I could despite my growing bitterness and discomfiture at the unmotorcyclability of such things. It's a pretty swampy and waterlogged square quarter, and there are several places where there are little pits that collect water. I always love these in the pre-spring nigh-thaw, as they grow thin chitinlike ice sheaths, through which you can see the little meandering veins where the water dripping off the bottom in rivulets has frozen little lines like so many incidental tiercerons. This is what I spend my time outside for - a minute of intense introspection, thirty-odd seconds' awareness borne of vitesse, yielding that certain careful contemplation wherein the élan vital envelops whichever fascinating microcosm has caught the eye, turning phenomenon to noumenon, and there is - for that moment - nothing else. Well, and then there was the rest of the walk, what with the shapely trees, the beckoning murky stagnant pools, begging to be invaded and experienced (and me without my waders, shame), and a particularly relaxing five minutes on the wooden love-seat swing by the pond. If I could with the wave of a hand eliminate the diving board (it cuts the lagoon-scape terribly), I would, but alas such concrete pilings are not so easily affected. Would that I'd my own space...