Back in the "golden", pre-Russian-owned days of Livejournal, I would update and post on my blog every single day, sometimes for consecutive months. Looking back on that type of journaling today, from the confines of my apartment in enforced quarantine, the world outside draped in malicious, piecemeal shrouds of disease, I'm fascinated by what the hell exactly I was writing about. I suspect I was gathering all the anthills I encountered throughout my day and piling them on top of each other to create one messy, dramatic, unstable and, let's be honest, mostly boring mountain. How I long to be so bored that the most fascinating thing exists in the recesses of my navel! You never know what you've got until it's threatened with a terrible illness which may or may not kill you. Isn't that the old adage?
I could, of course, easily return to my old account (it still exists, embarrassingly enough) but in the past month, I've experienced a gradual grief, hysteria, longing, loneliness, fear...I just don't need to add nostalgic cringe. All this preamble to say that I've decided to begin updating this blog just in time for me to be holed up inside the five rooms of my apartment with only the frayed wires of the internet tied around my heart and brain and eyes to connect to. That's not strictly true. I live with another person and two cats, I leave the house to do laundry and get supplies. I can see birds and the sky and the what I am certain now is an abandoned moped in the alley outside my bedroom window. Life has become both infinitesimally concentrated within walls and exploded into the outer reaches of humanity and philosophy and economies and other abstract ideas that have no end and placed them all into the world to see how we react to the results. (Is it just me, or does it feel like we're test subjects at the moment?)
I'm mostly doing this as a type of therapy. Back when I journaled regularly, I connected this way. I articulated what I couldn't say out loud, however silly or melodramatic; I miss that. I miss it most in times like this, when I want to have so much to say, but instead I have to dig around (sometimes rip it out from the root) and I find meaning in the search. I would like to find meaning in the search again.
So I guess I'm writing in here again?