A sort of life

A quiet rainmaker

RICHMOND, Va. — Troubling, it seems, that I write more here when I have less to say. I’m silent when things of substantial value happen in my life. I wonder why that is. What’s that say about me?

If I had to pick a theme for this space, I’d have to say this Web site is scientific documentation for how life is nothing but circles. Humps, if you will. I’ve talked explicitly about it, and also demonstrated the cycle by analogy. Sometimes intentional. Most times not.

Most times we’re talking about girls. They are, after all, my favorite subject. But there’s other things too: I’ve been open about my major depressions and its recurrences. I’ve tried to talk about the inner thought process. And I’ve tried to be vague too, sometimes.

And where does this all take us? Frustrating thing is it doesn’t take us anywhere. What we have here is writing probably done out of necessity. However, necessity is not mobility. I suppose this is how I can be standing four years from where I stood on day one, and yet remain on day one. I still go to bed with the same ideas. The same dreams. The same horrors. Of course some have changed, there’s always change. And of course most of the change is imperceptible without closer examination. But most — the most important things remain the same.

These days things are fresh. Crisp autumn air fills the flat and I feel the same type of kinetic mojo one feels when winter breaks. If I were a dog, I’d mount every leg that approached. I’ve got a stroll in my step. Things are good. But the mornings are getting cooler. The night darkens sooner. I can feel that winter is not far off and I’m beginning to fill with a sort of dread that’ll keep you under covers. Some mornings it’s hard to separate from the sheets.

Strangely the urge for creative output grows in the transient times. I’ve picked up my paintbrush for the first time in months. I’ve had an unfulfillable yearning to pick up a camera. It could be fulfilled, of course, but for the burglary of my flat this summer.

As an aside, this burglary also coincided with a two day period which changed the direction of my life. My life at that time at least. Again we’re talking about circles and cycles. On one side I was headed down. I had the darkest days I have ever had. On the other, well, the darkness subsided. I was free. If it weren’t for the very personal violation of space that happens with any burglary, I might never have been able to snap free. I still don’t know what the hell happened. But that’s neither here nor there.

So now I’m in the the sort of mood that leaves me feeling like I can do anything. And I suppose the trick is to learn how to anticipate the end before I’m left frustrated and feeling like there’s nothing I can do. Maybe that’s the trick.

The week ahead is going to be a rough one. I’m going to be working seven days straight. The real test, I figure, is whether I can sustain the good feelings I’ve been having recently while being drained of all my energy by all the working. Can a fatigued body and a creative mind coexist?

We’ll just have to see.

“A quiet rainmaker” is from Volume One: Frank’s Wild Years (1983–2009). Written between 2003 and 2009, Volume One was this author’s attempt to find meaning from life as a young twenty-something. While this endeavor would ultimately fail, what remains is a comical tale of loneliness and debauchery.

Washington is a city of Southern efficiency and Northern charm

Washington is a city of Southern efficiency and Northern charm

A woman rests during the National Cherry Blossom Festival in Washington, DC on April 2, 2007. The yearly festival celebrates spring in the Nation's Capital.