Addressing the Silence

The silence is getting to me. My silence, that is. The post about my experience of briefly being a sex pest quite a long time ago didn’t have enough points of interest and so it got trashed. The post about moonbeams also got trashed because it didn’t have sufficient substance. And nothing of note happened today unless you count being smiled at by strangers twice in the space of five minutes, or discovering that the pharmacist in Tesco looks like the leading character in a very pleasant dream.

I suppose I could mention that I had one of my deep epiphanies today – not about the meaning of life this time, but about the meaning of me. It undermined much of who I thought I was and it wasn’t exactly edifying. I decline to make the detail public but I would quite like to tell somebody about it, only the recipient of the knowledge will have to be carefully chosen. Maybe it can be the next person I meet who wants to talk to me. Such people are pretty rare after all. And maybe the undermining of one’s sense of self is the beginning of wisdom, but I have to ask again: what is the point of wisdom when you’re moving beyond being able to make it count?

Tonight one of my regular pains got worse and lasted some way beyond my comfort zone. Tonight I was rudely interrupted in my routine communion with the spirit of the Shire and I really don’t like that very much. And tonight was a Wailin’ Jennys night. Maybe I’ll have something to say that’s worth saying tomorrow.