To me it’s funny. I go through my writing file and I see all these random entries that I have not posted. And yet I am contented with this.
Sometimes it is more important to be doing than to be saying. Maybe I needed this time out of my head to just be, to just live, to just do.
Last night, though, going home to my apartment, to my dog, to my little life in the big city I had a moment where I felt like I would be consumed by solitary moments.
The key in my hand felt like an accusation. The pitter-patter of tiny little nails clicking on the surface of hard wood felt cold.
For a moment I felt utterly abandoned. My friends flashed before my eyes, all those people I missed, and I wondered.
Walking home on the streets of New York you constantly see advertisements for New York based TV shows that I don’t really watch. Looking at the posters though I couldn’t help but to be struck by the fact that in all of them there is always this gang. This group of misfit friends. Maybe four of them, held together by the some glue of connection: a job, a place, a hangout, past experience, future moments. They exist always as some vague duo, or trio, or quad in their triumphs and pains. Understanding each other.
And I know I have had those momentary packs of friends. And I think their names like a chant, like a hymn, those names that represent periods of my life. I know that in the early 2000s those names were Monolycus and McGlynn. I know that in the mid-00s they included a Canadian, a social worker and a writer. Later a volunteer with animals, a geek, those both passing quickly to become the Irish, and then the Irish and the One, and then the Artist…and now…
There is Hellion. For a time perhaps, but that time will pass. There will be constants. The Editor and the Bard, the Author, and my love the Artist. There will be constants that will remain, there will be transients and just passing throughs. There will be all manner of people.
But sometimes there is a moment and it catches me and all I here is the clicking of my small pup behind a door and I am overwhelmed with loneliness and mortality and the passing of time.
I cured it with a bottle of wine; that seemed like the best kind of cure.