It's startling to me every time I write out the year. Two thousand and five. I would've hoped there was a lot more going on in this era, positive things, but right now I can only see the cracks which are becoming the foundation of some lurid, seventies, dystopian science fiction novel.
In keeping with the mood, I have taken to reading the various dead-online-people sites. Mostly at LiveJournal and I'm getting moody. This is emotional pornography. Shit goes through my head like "Why didn't people express this kind of love when they were alive" regardless if the deadly cause was shotgun mouthwash or cancer or drunk driving. Final entries with only three or ten or maybe twenty are really depressing and puts all existences into sharp focus. The ones where dead folks have 100+ entries make me want to crosspost other death posts to the popular dead pages to give equal time to everyone else. Everybody is important.
All of this is coupled with the loss of my bike. The past week I've had this hankering to get on my bike and ride, just ride even if it is haunting the usual spots in downtown Colorado Springs.
Walking is for schmucks. I don't want to walk. I want to ride.
raddidge just visited my website according to my stalker script. She hasn't made it onto LambdaMOO yet but at least I know she's alive, safe and sound with an ornery gray cat and a homeless ginger cat who has taken to wandering around the outside of her homestead.
The light outside my window has gone from gray to a deep magenta, a strong breeze has barrelled down the driveway and now I'm all curious about the weather. Time to get the binoculars and head outside for a bit.
