For the Raisins
It turns out I had another blogiversary while this site was on hiatus. I’ve missed blogging a bit during my near six-month break. But my feeling about the enterprise as a whole remains what it was two years ago in this post. Excerpt:
Have you ever spent an hour or so reading through your own archives? It’s like being trapped in a very tiny room being hectored by your clone. You don’t look like you think you look, sound like you think you sound. The effect is probably something like the dysphoria Nixon experienced when he had to read through the transcripts of his Oval Office tapes: “[expletive deleted]: is that really me?” And the thing is, I’m generally ok with what I write, in small doses. I wonder how some other people can keep it together after doing this exercise or surfing through some of the vast sea of crap out there.
My father once told the story of a colleague who had a recurring dream. He’s swimming through what seems like an endless sea of crap for what seems like hours, when he encounters another swimmer. “Crap! It’s all crap!” the first swimmer exclaims. “Ah, it’s not so bad,” replies the second swimmer, “every now and then, you get a raisin!”
And so, chin up, we swim on and on against the current. For the raisins.