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Thursday, September 12, 2002
It's a disconnected day, I think. Sort of like yesterday afternoon, and the day before that. There are times when you can talk to someone you know well and the words go back and forth but there's nothing personal in them, as if there's no real person behind them, just directions and explanations and day-to-day things, somehow abstracted from the people involved. And there are times when you can try to reach out and make a connection with someone you don't really know, a quick question or short sentence, and find yourself hitting a wall and wishing you hadn't bothered to speak at all. It's a day for the introvert to hole up, because failed connection seems to make that dealing-with-people thing all risky again. And recently that's been all too tempting, because connections have been fading in and out like radio signals at the edge of their range.
I'm here. Thinking lots, writing little. I have post-it notes on my desk by my computer, with notes written on them for posts I intend to write. They're just sitting there waiting for the moment when I'll find the words to actually write them. Maybe sooner, maybe later. We'll see.
