I am still reading. A little.

Books affect me more than they used to. Some, it’s like their written about me. I find that alarming, not comforting, that either so many people have the same problems, or that I’m so damaged.

As such, I find I process what I read more. Which is good, I think.

After all, in the five years since I’ve been reading extensively, I find I am not retaining as much as I’d like. My eidetic memory is turning into swiss cheese. Decaying.

Which might be a relief. If only I could forget some of my sins. Yet, I suppose that’s why they are sins. We. Must. Atone.

However, this year I didn’t read solely for the sake of reading. And I find that this year’s books—especially ones that affected me—have also stuck with me.

Am I actually growing? It will be interesting to see…

For the record, here are the books read in 2021:

1. The Way of Men - Jack Donovan
2. Reality Unveiled - Ziad Masri
3. The Mist - Stephen King
4. The Obstacle Is the Way - Ryan Holiday
5. Men Without Women - Ernest Hemingway
6. Live First, Work Second - Rebecca Ryan
7. Son of a Wanted Man - Louis L’Amour
8. American Eve - Paula Uruburu
9. The Infinite Game - Simon Sinek
10. Private Dancer - Stephen Leather
11. A Dreadful Man - Brian Aherne
12. The Trial - Franz Kafka
13. Revival - Stephen King
14. Lost in the Meritocracy - Walter Kirn
15. Riveted - Jim Davies
16. Where the Red Fern Grows - Wilson Rawls
17. Women’s Infidelity - Michelle Langley
18. Death of a Citizen - Donald Hamilton
19. No More Mr. Nice Guy - Robert A. Glover
20. Women’s Infidelity II - Michelle Langley
21. I Should Write This Stuff Down - Bruce Behymer
22. The Five Love Languages - Gary Chapman
23. Outwitting the Devil - Napoleon Hill
24. Falling Angel - William Hjortsberg
25. Iron John: A Book About Men - Robert Bly
26. Under the Sweetwater Rim - Louis L’Amour
27. Anne of Green Gables - L.M. Montgomery
28. Idlewild - Nick Sagan
29. The 48 Laws of Power - Robert Greene
30. The Trumpet of the Swan - E.B. White
31. The Albuquerque Turkey - John Vorhaus
32. Curse of the High IQ - Aaron Clarey
33. Firestarter - Stephen King

Today is the day.

I suppose it’s only natural to have a lot to process over this. To feel numb. To mourn.

Mourn what, exactly?

The end of a colossally bad decision? One that ultimately proves the last seventeen years never happened?

At some point, I may want to talk about it. Even sooner, I suspect, I’ll want to celebrate freedom.

Freedom from the shithole.

The shithole I ultimately had to pay someone to take.

Good riddance.

Take a day to mourn. Bask in the comforts of strangers. Celebrate. And move on.

In a week, it’ll feel like today was the best day… regardless of how it feels today.

The world is still here… even though primitive human emotions still hold sway over rational thought.

What i'm listening to:

I Have Nothing
Whitney Houston
The Bodyguard

You broke my heart. In an instant. When you asked. For cinnamon rolls. To go with your chili.

You’re so beautiful, but it’s not going to work.

Bill: So-crates — “The only true wisdom consists in knowing that you know nothing."

Ted: That's us, dude.

I am back.

Out of necessity.

Writing is one thing I do for no one else. No one, but me.

Perhaps I write to keep myself sane.

Yet, do I need to “publish” it? No, I don’t NEED to.

I am more likely to, however, if I keep the journals in this platform.

If I drop my MacBook? The entries are safe. If I misplace my written journal? The entries are safe.

If I forget to pay my internet bill? Well…

That may be the price of sanity.

So, I’ll continue to write. About nothing. Or something.

And burden my handful of readers. And bots.

You’re welcome.

The habit [of indulging in uninvited expression of opinions] creates enemies and places in their hands dangerous weapons by which they may do great injury to the one who indulges in it.

As many of my friends know, I’ve been doing a lot of reading over the last several years. And a few of them know I’ve done a bit of writing as well.

Yet, as I’ve lamented before, I mostly write about nothing. I’m not an influencer. I may be a headcase. I tend to wax emo over lost loves. And lovelies.

And it’s all unsolicited opinions. Opinions that may, or may not have much basis in reality. Note, I said reality and not fact. The more enlightened I get, the more I realize even facts are subjective. And these “facts” are the devil’s tools.

No adult human being ever loses the right to freedom of thought, but most humans lose the benefits of this privilege either by neglect or because it has been taken away from them by their parents or religious instructors before the age of understanding.

My latest reading, frankly, scared the hell out of me. Figuratively, of course. I’m still convinced that’s where I am heading.

It has also spotlighted just how critical finding a definiteness of purpose is. It’s no wonder that I tend to flounder as much as I do. I set less-than-lofty goals, then celebrate when I hit them. Yet, there’s still a world out there. A world of wealth. Of power. Of adventure. Of women.

Certain things just happen when you make no plans
And love can really tear you up and it can break you down
Everything you think you know baby
Is wrong

Or is there? Hill also pointed out why I cannot connect with any of them. Yes, I like these girls. But yes, they’re also bad for me. Especially her.

Damn. The more I learn, the less I know.

And I can’t stop thinking about her.

If I could I would
I’d change everything
Cause I can’t forget you though you don’t believe me
Now I can’t walk back
I can’t leave behind
Where does it go all the light that we had?

Anyway, I think this is an ideal opportunity to write less.

Well, maybe not write less, but blog less. Hardly anyone finds this blog, and even fewer read it. I haven’t invited anyone to read it in years.

Yet, it is still out there. A testament to a glimmer of neediness I possess.

A penlight in a field of stars, begging for attention.

And my journal sits—neglected. And I fail to commit to invitations. Even those that I know will be good for me. Perhaps, because I feel unworthy.

Perhaps.

Have some fun! Yes, sleep when you feel like it, not when you think you should. Eat food that is bad for you—at least once in a while. Have conversations with people whose clothes are not color coordinated. Make love in a hammock! Life is the ultimate experience, and you have to live it to write about it.

So, it’s time to take another detour. To have some fun. To play with new people. Make new friends. Bed new lovers.

If the thrill is gone, then it’s time to take it back.

To find my thrill. Then, perhaps I can return to this space. When I have something to say. Or when I become an influencer.

What i'm listening to:

It’s All Over But the Crying
Garbage
Bleed Like Me

Ten years from now, you’ll put on a jacket and find a mask in the pocket.

“Oh, man, what a weird year that was,” you’ll chuckle to yourself.

Then, you’ll pick up your machete and continue across the wasteland, keeping to the shadows to avoid the roving gangs of cannibal raiders.

Shamelessly stolen, of course. But funny... or is it?

You don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart.

I don’t trust you anyway.

I am a battery.

Perhaps most introverts are.

Yet, it’s not entirely attached to my introvertedness.

In fact, the best “quick charge” I can get, is to plug in to female energy.

(Interpret that in whatever way you see fit.)

Fun fact: I love traveling and seeing new things. New experiences. &c.

Okay, maybe you knew that. If you’ve read this blog, much. Or follow me on the social media. Oh, wait.

Well, my Snatchers and Instafollowers know, anyway.

Anyway, the wanderlust was beginning to consume me again, so I opted to explore upper Michigan for the weekend. Yet, this half of the state is vast… where should I go?

I’m so close to Lake Superior. The Greatest Lake. As such, it’s also huge, so… where along the shoreline?

I chose Chapel Rock. It’s a short, well-trafficked hike, and looks incredible in pictures. Let’s go!

The trailhead is at the end of a rough road. A very rough road. Why the guy in front of me brought his Infiniti, I’ll never know…

Apparently, there is a place to get maps. The trailhead is not the place. They have one posted at the trailhead, so I snapped a picture on my phone. At least it’s something.

The entire trek to the Chapel Rock beach, 3.5 miles, I am encountering other hikers every fifteen minutes… at the most. There are a lot of people out here.

A lot of girls. Cute girls. I like it here. Incredible.

Some of the groups are noisy. Talking amongst themselves. Telling stories. I am glad I’m alone.

Will I ever find traveling companions that don’t chatter? Who knows?

And there’s a Mexican couple as well. Why must they listen to music on their phone?

Perhaps I am the only one who enjoys the sound(s) of nature. And other people chattering.

Three-ish miles later, I find the lake. And Chapel Rock. Incredible.

Seriously. It feels like the edge of the world.

The Mexican girl arrived only two minutes before I did. Her cries of joy and awe didn’t even prepare me for the sight.

Wow. Incredible.

The rocks. The cliff. The lake. The white sand beach. The water is so clear. So cold. Incredible.

I must have explored the area for an hour.

And I found a trail that headed away from the beach. Complete with a boardwalk for part of the trail. Perfect. I still might make it back to Wisconsin in time for dinner. With a couple of cute girls. And dessert.

My watch says I’m making good time. A half mile passes. A mile.

And I notice… I haven’t seen. A soul. Since the beach.

Okay, Robert Frost. I guess this is the path less traveled.

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