Somnambulance

I am more than a little bit sad, frustrated, and nonplussed that this is the first post I've written in a month for this blog. I would give the tired, weak, and frequently quoted excuse that I just haven't had the time to make any new comments here, but that just doesn't cover the story. The plain truth is that, while I do seem to be the busiest part-time employed, work one day a week person on the planet, that's not what's keeping me away from Malchats Matters.

I think the grim reality has more to do with my living arrangements than anything else. It's now been six months since I broke down the most recent Heavily Fortified Bunker and moved in at my mom's place, and the erosive--indeed, corrosive--effects of that household set-up have been grinding down on my sense of having my own life. This is, after all, a touch of cyberspace that is designed to be a virtual adjunct to my life--and with the life I call my own squeezed down into such a narrow space in the real world, it makes perfect sense that I wouldn't have much to add to the Internet annex.

For one thing, the current set-up allows little time and space for me to do much reading; thus, very few Recently Read editions. Given mom's virtual monopoly on the main TV, watching movies has become a null program. (I have been re-watching old episodes of The Simpsons [seasons one through four, so far; now into season five] on the computer in my bedroom; that has taken away time and space that could be devoted to films.) And I suppose I just haven't been as active an observer on the scene as usual, and thus not so much a commentator on that scene.

But beyond all that, there's simply the fact that all I really think about these days is how much I hate the current arrangements, and if I were posting here regularly, all I'd really be doing is bitching about that. And, of course, that's exactly what I DON'T want to do. It's what I hate about most blogging to begin with (as well as its twisted virtual baby brothers, Twitter and Facebook): the false, narcissistic, unmerited belief that anyone gives a shit about the minutiae of your life. That's not what Malchats Matters is all about, despite the title. I want to express thoughts, and occasional feelings, about things that are relative to, but outside, my own life--not just wallow in my own filth. Perhaps, if I'm lucky, one of my sent-out resumes will strike literal pay dirt, and I'll have the chance to redevelop my sense of the world beyond my own (basically nonexistent) plot of earth.

Until such time, I ask for patience, both from myself and any reader who happens to stumble upon this Internet backwater.