Borne back ceaselessly

It's strange, I wrote the quippy ghost-town post below a full nine years ago, which means that time continues to move at a startling pace. I'm old now, but I was younger than this then. Or something like that. I've definitely got that wrong. Time will do that, mix you up.

Thought I'd talk to myself for a few seconds here, and maybe to one or two people who still have an operating RSS feed that they began during the Truman administration. God, speaking of administrations, I'm glad I wasn't blogging over the past 10 years and especially the past two. Maybe there would have been some relief in the venting, but it seems just as likely that my head would have literally exploded. (As opposed to figuratively exploding, which it's done nonstop.)

Bizarre to think that this rusty old contraption and its archives continue to float in the ether when the much more "modern" website I created several years after it is not functional and I can't seem to get anyone to re-function it. I'm thinking about starting something robust on Substack, but I can't seem to find the practical energy level that that would allow me to actually kickstart the damn thing, instead I just vacillate between feeling energetic/determined and pointless/deflated. 

I was around here today because I wanted to look up something I wrote about a band in my Top 100 Albums list. (What a time it was!) It's so funny looking at that list now; I felt so fully, maturely "myself" when I made it — and there's nothing on it I don't still appreciate, but it was still such a snapshot of its time in many ways and would be so different now. And I was so intent on valuing the things I valued when I was younger that several things are skewed out of proportion. I was already beginning to outgrow my deeply nostalgic personality, but I have so even more now. (My factory settings were deeply nostalgic, so it's not like I don't have any of that left. But I've strangely come to find that I'm much better at the present than I am at needing or wanting the past. The future is another story: I'm still quite bad at envisioning it/projecting my habitation of it, and at a moment like this one, when certain big things in my life are uncertain, that can produce a lot of anxiety.)

OK, note to self finished. If you're some internet spirit haunting this site, I hope you've been well.