I can’t begin to count the number of times I think about writing here, and don’t.
I can’t begin to count the number of times I think about calling someone I love, and don’t.
I can’t begin to count the number of things I think about taking a photograph of, and don’t.
I can’t begin to count the number of TV series and movies I think about watching, and don’t.
I can’t begin to count the number of things that will never live on for posterity because they happen and I didn’t memorialize them in either words or pictures. Ah well, shit happens, that’s life, and so it goes.
Every day, I write a list of good things for today, on Facebook (not here), but that’s as far as my motivation seems to take me, these days. I’ve been officially writing the good things lists every day since May 24. I figure I will do it for a year and see how I feel after that. I currently have 554 “friends” on Facebook but my good things posts rarely break 20 likes and I’m lucky to get a couple of comments, if any. I’m not doing them for the likes and comments, though. I’m doing them to give myself incentive to notice the good things that occur in every day, the things that make me smile, make me happy, make me remember them. I’m doing them to give others incentive to write actual posts with actual content about their lives instead of just sharing links to articles. I don’t know if it’s working, and I don’t really care if it is or not. It’s just for me, either way.
But it seems that if I spend my energy there, I don’t spend it here. My posting on the 2 social media platforms I pay attention to (Instagram and Facebook) has otherwise slowed way down, though I spend an indecent amount of time scrolling through Instagram because my feed is full of artists of all kinds and their beautiful work, which is at least somewhat worth the time it takes. I cain’t go to galleries or museums around the world, and I can’t buy all the art I love, but I can at least look, and like, and save in my own private digital collection on Instagram.
It’s hard to believe and yet not at all hard to believe that Christmas is only 8 days away. I picked up the last presents I had ordered yesterday. The tree is up and decorated. The house smells like fresh pine. I have presents to wrap (thereby checking one last time that everything is even), and cookies to bake (though I shouldn’t…but I will) and then it will be a week off and then it will be a new year, and then, god and the fucking pandemic willing, I will get to see my mom, and the rest of my first family. If 2022 lets me down like 2021 did, in regards to that, I may never get over it.
And there, a post! That wasn’t so hard, was it?