The Things The Snow Left Behind

Went for a walk tonight. It was a real walk. It involved sneakers and pavement and locking my door because I would be gone so long that prowlers could enter and steal my shit. Well . . . not literally steal my shit cuz I flush that down clown, but ya know what I mean. I had moments, in my meandering through the neighborhood, where I nearly forgot about my broken ankle. My foot is feeling good, at least good enough for me to go for a long-ish stroll.

Some curious things I saw on my walk included all of the rubbish that is visible now that the snow is gone. There are some nasty remnants out there. I saw LOTS of cigarette butts. LOTS. Also spotted (and avoided) plenty of dog turds. PLENTY. There were random empty cans and bottles, what looked to be rabbit droppings -- perhaps it was fertilizer. As I continued on my journey, it became a game to see what the strangest thing might be. Banana peel. Sock. Fast food wrapper. Then my eyes caught a glint of metallic in a nearby patch of dead grass. Cell phone. Yep, somebody done lost their cell phone. I kept on on walkin. The phone probably doesn't work anymore. Hopefully some poor squirrel can snag it and use it to call his homies or order up a pizza. Squirrels deserve cell phones too. Why should humans get all the good stuff?

I know there is a metaphor here. The things that people leave behind. Renewal of life dredging up past transgressions and the like. I was just happy to be out in the fresh air enjoying the smells and sounds of Spring and grateful my hoof no longer hurts.

On a completely unrelated note, I have recently grown weary of this blogging thing. Thinking about packin it in and just going back to my good ole paper journal. Something about physically writing, putting pen to paper, that just feels right and therapeutic and soul purging. I don't know. I guess when I pour my thoughts and questions into my personal journal I am somewhat reassured by the fact that no one, only me, reads it and gives a damn. Only me. By its very nature it is a solitary, private action. This blogging thing is oddly public and strangely voyeuristic. It's like walking around inside with the curtains open. You get the feeling people are watching but no one stops and knocks on the door to say hello. That's creepy. Here I become too easily impacted by the lack of response. The whole deal is set up to create a feedback loop, so when nothing happens and no one jumps in the water, it seems more sad, more lonely and more isolating than my personal journal experience could ever feel. I'd rather feel alone and able to tell it all to no one than feel exposed in a crowd (or, in my case, a handful).

Odd, eh?

Why did I just ask that question?