Sodomitical quietude

I'm loath to post one of those why I'm not posting entries but am equally unhappy at letting silence continue without comment.

As you may know I have eight weblogs in three domains. I've got two more domains and three weblogs simmering in the background. Really, who needs a life if they have a keyboard? This stuff takes time. Lots of time.

I'm reluctant to write about my days with Charles. It is a peculiar admixture of lovely affection and profound disappointment. I don't know with whom or where I'll be living with six weeks from now.

Some days I feel as if I'm performing a ballet perched atop an egg, waiting to trip off or merely crush the egg. Other days it is as if I've already died and am being haunted by my own ghost.

Given such rarified feelings it is hard to reduce how I'm feeling into something as concrete as words. On the worst days if you were to see me in my used bookshop you would likely wonder how long it will be before the poor fellow is in the stroke ward or being wheeled about by idiotically cheerful nurses at some dreadful haven for the inane with a name like Sunny Acres.

I persist. I endure. Whether I'll triumph or not is down he road apiece. For now my pleasure is my disinterested viewing of my own life's movie. Annoyingly no amount of skillful condensation or artful editing is going to make it a weblog box-office blockbuster.

So it goes today. And will go tomorrow.