A blog post? In 2025?

 I dunno, it's mine.  It doesn't require me to make a fucking substack account.  Hell, maybe i'll have to end up doing that too, but for me the meantime, I'm gonna, "it's an old meme, but it checks out," the fuck out of writing a goddamn blog post.

I've hid myself.  And that's ok.  That's ok.
That's how I've been talking to myself lately, with gentleness as the different parts of me feel all of their different feelings. Like how angry I am that I didn't receive my relief until 15 minutes after my shift ended, even though I called an hour before I was supposed to get off.  Like how scared I am to post my first ad onto the internet advertising my latest professional offering.  Like how uncertain I am that the, "right," thing to do is to call back yet again for the 4th day in a row about renting an office space for the first time in my life.  Is that a sign from the uni- oh, no, it's just the universe giving my an opportunity to grow my discernment ability to a an even fluffier size.

I've missed writing, wondering where to put in a paragraph break in my writing, wondering how much to hide different parts of myself in caution of who might be reading.  What impact that might have on my life.

And I've been written about, and it was a weird feeling.  So, often I would withhold from writing about different people in my life, because I didn't want to cause them harm.  I still don't.  And I want to express myself, unabashedly, at 175 mph, with my foot still on the accelerator.  I want to feel what it's like to truly go full throttle.  

I ride a motorcycle now.  I've ridden one since I moved to Hawaii and didn't want to spend all of that money on a car.  And it's been fucking delightful!  Motorcycles are fun as shit!  And I finally bought a bigger one, and i love it!  

I also tried out cleaning and oiling my chain in the driveway.  I felt bad.  And good.  Good for finally getting my bike on the center stand in gravel, bad for the smell that lingered after spraying the chain cleaner, and knowing that the amount that I rinsed off with the water is now in the soil.  I think about how every time I eat some food, I throw plastic away.  I think about how much waste is produced at the airport by passengers and myself feeding ourselves.

I think about how dumb I've been feeling lately.  As I come home from work and turn on this show that I've been enjoying watching.  This cop show that I justify watching because it stars this sci-fi actor, but in reality, I just enjoy it.

Boy, at times, my brain sure does seem so scattered, huh, this moment is reminding me of the dream i had last night.  i just couldn't for the life of me successfully write my name.  the letters just kept on getting scrambled.  i was so frustrated and felt so impotent/incompetent.  oh, fucking language. fucking culture.  such sex shaming.  can't perform. valueless. goddammit i hate this culture i'm in. and yet, it's making some goddamn cool media, and cool art.

so, the old me wouldn't publish this.  vulnerability hangover.  putting myself out there too much, too exposed.  there's a part of me now that really wants to expose myself. not to children or anything, but just to show you all of me.  that parts that are messy, the parts that are consistent and steady, the parts that impatient, and the part that is oh so tired of putting off publishing an ad for caring companionship.