Walking Dead

My time is taxed more than ever since I've come home from California.  What was that, about a year ago?  I haven't worked with any of the images since I've gotten home.  I've done nothing but work.  I manage a workout and dinner somehow.  Then, if I have the energy, I answer emails and fall asleep.

Yesterday, I got an email from Red who has been in Europe for over a month.  She will be back next week, she said, and maybe we will see one another before she goes to Costa Rica.  I think I will respond, "I'm sorry, who is this?"  But she has stories, she says, and I am a fool for those (among other things).

I have had no luck in conjuring up Drug Skinny.  She does not answer email and has not been active on any of her sites since June.  Perhaps she has just been on her own extended vacation.  If she turns up, she will have stories, too.

I need them, for I have none.  You must have time to live a storied life if you are to be the one to tell it.  When you live that way, though, all of life is a story.  Your own life becomes a series of stories connected by symbol and theme, and you cannot wait for the next day just to see what happens.

It is not so easy when all you do is suffer and work.  Later on, sometimes, once you've reached a place of reflection, you can create the giant narrative from the past, but that is usually motivated by some cause or need to tell something of significance.  "My Life as a. . . . ".  P.O.W.  Refugee.  Schizophrenic.  Abused Child.  Alcoholic.  Social Reformer.  Most Corrupt President of the United States.

I want to live some stories again, but more than likely I will have to settle on listening to the stories of others who are still walking and talking.  Now it is time for work, and I must go through the daily ritual and get into the costume of the walking dead.  As Vonnegut so famously said, "And so it goes."

At least I can leave you with some good working man music.