Well, Connie is back in Germany (we took her to the airport in Atlanta on Wednesday), and life is back to normal on the home front.

And in the meantime, I’ve written this stanza-ed essay about, well, life. Have a look?

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Sitting here on the computer, whiling the late night away typing incessantly
Putting off the day that will come, both inevitably and eventually
While waiting for A day that may never, ever come.

Constantly thinking upon matters which (one would think) would never possibly consume the common man’s interest
Wait a minute, scratch that statement in the parentheses—one would KNOW.
Constantly looking over the same old articles, same old threads, same old postings, same old online friendships which lasted for no more than one convo on IM.
Possessing no long-term imagination which would make it easy to dream and envision in one’s sleep.
Possessing no serious interest in the usual and mundane, the popular and mass-manufactured, the close-to-home and up-front.
Possessing earth-shattering amounts of potential within, but never coming to a picturesque, epic-saga realization of what that potential is actually worth.

Being mentally and spiritually invaded by the onslaughts of everyday life and everyday people.
Caught in the undertow of the world, which has no time for those who actually KNOW, by the time that they’re 18, that they weren’t made for the common and practical world into which we all are born.
Is ready to leave for wider, more open, more welcoming spaces, no matter where it may be found.
But then…

Comes to the revelation that, as the world becomes smaller, the people will show a greater diversity and wider possibilities, and eventually those possibilities may come our way, so that that which the most idealistic of us will hold to in their own hearts will someday bloom forth as but another manifestation of human history. Someday…

That is me.

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