As full of iron as an old fence

I was talking to a friend tonight, and he was in the middle of writing a blog post about why he continues to blog. And he was finding it tough going. Which, I pointed out, was ironic.

I know that here I ebb and flow, as do most bloggers who've been at it for a while.

Side note: If you're new here, you may not know that I started this here thing in about 2003, and that there was a technical glitch that resulted in several years' worth of posts being - not quite lost, but only recoverable by hand (and if you don't think that's ironic, for an online medium, well, I can't teach you anything about irony).

Anyway. Ebb, flow, etc. Yes.

The thing about a blog that's about nothing but whatever is on my mind at the moment, is that there's a certain amount of room for ebb and flow. I haven't promised you a rose garden, so when I start growing cherry trees or bugger off to Firenze for six weeks without telling anyone except the gelato salesmen (warning! stock up on stracciatella!), well, it's basically okay.

Nobody's terribly disappointed; they just figure I'm off having a nap or something. And eventually I come back and write a little list of things that hangs together pretty much like a homemade Halloween costume. It resembles an idea, but not the original one I had.

My friend's blog, on the other hand, has a specific purpose, and as such, he ain't always in the mood to write about that purpose, so sometimes it's hard to keep going. If it were a person, it'd be that little sweaty kid on the couch who's suffering from ennui and pretending it's a fever so he can get out of school.

My blog is more of a delinquent who knows damn well he's too smart for school and thus feels no compunction about cutting class anytime he damn well pleases.

Anyway. Stracciatella notwithstanding, here we are. I never promised you a rose garden, and you ain't getting one.

What I can give you is: yes, of course, a list. Well, no maybe not. Maybe just some random impressions in a freeform fashion.

It is cold out - 54F/12C.
The cars passing by sound like rushing water.
I'm riding over a lot of acorns these days.
I painted my toenails a couple of days ago when I was bored and not especially sober. I hadn't picked out the color (it was bought for me by a friend) and didn't think I'd like it (dark-blood red), but I'm starting to think it looks kind of good on me. My feet are very pale, and it looks if a messy vampire had been licking my toes.
I don't have a date, and I don't have a date, and I don't have a date. I had two last week, and I suddenly get this feeling there's going to be a lull. As much as I dislike that, on one level, on another I wonder if I might want it that way. I am feeling like one of those creatures who curls up when touched, an isopod.
I'm not sure I want anybody touching my soft underbelly again for a while.
Have you noticed that this is in fact a list of sorts? Maybe I should go back and number them.
Nah.
It gets so late so quickly, do you ever notice that?
I'm knitting. But what I really want to be doing is climbing trees.