Ticking
2026-09-17
My trip on Labor Day weekend was great, thanks for asking.
Getting back into this proverbial saddle gives me a bit of anxiety sometimes, but it's something that's just so innate at this point—there's not really much else I'd prefer to do, anyway. I was worried about being too tired, but my energy levels fared okay; the trip itself ended up being just low-key enough for someone of my previously degenerate disposition to fare well. Typically, I'm used to guys wanting to chase tail constantly, saying "What's the move?" every five minutes, so being with more wholesome people was a good change of pace. I've been rather quelled as I've gone through my twenties, especially since so much of my activity when I was young felt so vacuous and devoid of any real fruit. That's a common symptom of being a young adult—wanting more than anything to feel like you matter and that your life isn't a venture through empty space; substance reveals itself in interesting ways, though.
While visiting the parish in Shreveport, I found myself in the parish hall at some point in the middle of the service—just after the catechumen prayers. Usually during every service, I depart from the sanctuary after those prayers to take a break; the services are still too damn long for me. While in the parish hall after my smoke break, I found a few parents and young kids hanging out to get away from the crowd; they were kindred spirits in many ways. In the corner of the parish hall, I saw a young girl with autism and an intellectual disability drawing pictures and yapping about Kirby—the pink little puffball guy. As regular readers know, my older sister has a similar condition, and so I knew I'd be in good company chatting with her. This girl was a hoot! It turned out that she was a fellow artist, though her medium was more visual arts than mine—I'm primarily a writer and musician. She had a comic she was working on: The Gemstone Puppies. In her words, it was like Calvin and Hobbes but for girls and with a cute art style like Kirby. She had a circle-drawing ruler and a mechanical pencil; she whipped up a drawing of one of her characters in sixty seconds flat—and it was fantastic! Simon and Schuster needs to give her a call.
I was struggling with some internal issues these last few weeks, but I'm finally coming out of it on the other side. I've had no energy to read or invest much of my time elsewhere. It's been either the sundry of familial obligations or sleeping, so it goes. Of course, I've still been able to get to church mostly on time and without any major hiccups, glory to Him. Prayer life has been quiet, mostly just one-way dialogues where the Lord just lets me yap my heart out to Him. Thanks, Jesus! I've been having a better time praying to saints as well, feeling the everlasting life seep through the gentle hues of their icons and the imperceptible whispers in the air. They're there, but they like to keep themselves quiet to me! Such impenetrable wisdom those ones have—well, either that or a level of advancement I've yet to reach, but may find one day if I keep my head screwed on straight. "Good luck with that," I tell myself as I latch further onto my insignificant little sins. Absolution sure would be nice, but I try to let my faith help me weather the storms more than any spiritual bureaucracy could. Still, it's always a good thing to have people in your corner.
Coming here for intellectual release is a good enough time, but I crave more tangibility in the work. Something people can hold would be nice, but it always comes down to pipe dreams of acknowledgment and esteem from others, which isn't really what I should be doing this for anyway. No, the truth is a healthier pill to swallow, bitter and freeing as it may be. More than acknowledgment, I crave development—growth in a medium with no true ceiling; no finish lines needed here. I have no idea when this little charade of mine will end, but when it does, I'll hope that I can look back and say that I really gave it my damnedest. Money, fame, sex appeal—haha, that's a silly one. Solitude has been a sweeter fruit since its sugar is true stillness. Though even when I only get it in small doses, it's tough to get actually hooked on it. A sad state of affairs for the spirit, but I enjoy the small pockets more than a big rush of dopamine and adrenaline these days. It's peaceful, really. Just one second at a time.
Look over the shoulder—shit, it's still ticking!
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