factually, i will never be able to do a 365-day tumblr, or anything requiring a daily internet connection or the patience to stay with my technology when, at the end of a day (oh, lord, or even before the end of a day) long strapped to my technology, all i want to do is disconnect my glowing screens and curl up with a book, my radio, or my bathtub. or all three.

so i apologize already for the gaps. i’m sorry! when the crumb trail was new and fresh, i laid new crumbs down all the time, and they were pecked up readily, i know. i don’t know what happened! i am still doing the same things i was doing in 2000— teaching, running, living— i just can’t find the time to talk about it so much online ten years later.

ah.

anyway, i was catching up on some reading earlier today (train, extended to dinner over whole foods b/c i didn’t want to go home just yet— that would have meant opening up the laptop and resuming work. or tumbling. or work.) and it occurred to me that i am very happy and grateful to love certain authors now (rather: again) very much the way i loved certain bands and songwriters when i loved them most intensely, which was probably a decadish ago. there are authors (why do i feel the need to keep them to myself at the moment?) who make me feel acutely, adolescently, “that is so TRUE” about certain phrases, certain truths, certain ringing conclusions that feel like they have such weight and actuality when i read them… even if, if i suspend myself just a little bit, i know that they probably aren’t as substantial and actually true as they feel.

it’s just beautiful writing, you know? even when i know there are arguments to be made against these siren songs, even when i start MAKING the arguments out loud in my own mind against these words on the page, i am nevertheless taken. i lay down my swords, i settle my crooked eyebrow back down, and i just — you know — i just let myself get taken into the turn.

reading is fun.

elsewhere.

(truth and meek apologies.)