Friday, July 14, 2017


To the boy who keeps liking my Instagram posts. I hope you never read this. That would be embarrassing.

It's a dangerous thing, typing this, sending it out to the internet at large. I feel safe here on this blog, like it's a sort of secluded, out-of-the-way spot where few people ever venture (and if they do, it's most likely because they're lost on the way someplace else). But the fact remains that the internet is technically "out there," and if it's not set to private or password-protected, anyone might find this if they choose.

(Including you.)

It's an interesting thing, opening an app on your phone (an app that only a year ago you were convinced was an utter waste of time), seeing that someone has "liked" your post, and lighting up like a Christmas tree.

I glow.

Is that cheesy? Yeah, it totally is. But it's also the most accurate word. It's a warm-fuzzy-happy-bright smile-for-no-reason feeling. Except there is a reason, and it's going on and seeing your profile photo pop up on my feed.

I don't know you. I saw you at an event we both attended. I admired the way you seemed to be everywhere, and always with that camera to your eye. I wanted to see what you were seeing. So when I found the link to your profile by chance, mentioned in a repost of one of your photos by the event coordinators, I thought, "Aha! A chance to glimpse some of the moments he captured." So I followed you, and for some reason you followed me back, and the rest is history.

I did the internet stalker thing. Sorry. I looked at the website listed in your bio, read some of the posts and watched a couple videos. All I know is your first name, and that you like video games. Well, that, and the images you capture of the world.

There's a girl that shows up consistently in your photographs, so I'm pretty sure you have a girlfriend. And her smile is so kind and her eyes so alive - she seems so genuinely wonderful - that I can't even be mad at the universe for allowing me to find you and form this unreasonable yet unstoppable crush on you only to discover it could never be.

There are lots of reasons it's not to be.

We've never met.
You might not like me.
I might not like you.
We might have nothing to talk about.
You might find this blog post somehow and be super weirded out and think, "What kind of odd person obsesses like that over a stranger? Get a life!"
I'm pretty sure there's a literal ocean between us.
And lots of other things that basically add up to the fact that all of this is just a daydream in my head.

(Snap out of it!)

(But I don't want to.)

So you post pictures, and I click the little heart. Then I post pictures and you click it back. It's gotten so that I go on every day now, where before it might be once a week.

I'm so stupid, but I don't care.

I put a quarter in a fortune-telling machine at The House on the Rock five years ago and it gave me a card. All the things on that card have come true, save one: "You will find one who loves you. That love will be returned by you. The first name of the person begins with the letter M and you will be introduced at a place of amusement."

I am not joking. I carry the card around in my wallet, along with several other small, portable souvenirs from past adventures. I don't believe in that kind of thing normally, but it's been fun to watch as one by one the things it says - even oddly specific statements - have come to pass.

When I saw your name, I thought: M. M? M!
And I first saw you there at the convention, "a place of amusement."
But we were never introduced, and this isn't love.

We just click heart after heart after heart on Instagram.

Saturday, April 15, 2017


So it's been a while. There are (no exaggeration) at least two dozen other blog posts I should have written over the course of the last eight months. Instead you get this one.

Star Wars Celebration is this weekend. I didn't go, of course, but I did watch the panel on The Last Jedi and geek out over the teaser trailer and have an obsessive chat conversation with a friend about said trailer and the teaser poster and Rey and Luke and Snoke and what does it all mean.

You know, fun times.

I wanted to get a desktop widget to count down to the film, along with some other fun upcoming dates for trips and things (more on that in a bit). But alas, with the advancing technology I can't seem to find what I wanted like back in the good old days. If it's not designed for a phone it doesn't matter, apparently. And all the cool kids these days with their Snapchat and their Instagram Stories like everything to be temporary and fleeting. I don't know what philosophical statement that's making about our world's youth but that's not what I came here to talk about, so - back on topic:


Isn't it lovely? As I write this it's a mere 243 days and 15 hours until I'll be seeing The Last Jedi in theatres (assuming the current U.S. dictator doesn't kill us all before then). But as with past countdown clocks I've posted here, eventually those numbers will all read zero.

There's a lot that will happen between now and then, but for now it's fun to look forward with anticipation.

More here soon, I promise, but for now...

May the Force be with you!

Monday, February 6, 2017

Sometimes It's Not a Glad Day, It's a Sad Day, It's a Nothing Day, You May Not Even Understand Why


It's been six months since I left the States to come up to Newfoundland and pursue a Master's degree in Folklore. Which I guess was my modern-day equivalent of running away to join the circus.

I basically felt like if I stayed my life would stall out. I'd be doing the exact same thing in the exact same place over and over again for the rest of my days.

I don't know.

But being here doesn't feel right either. This degree is nothing like what I thought it would be. I don't want to give up like I gave up before with the library degree. (I totally should have stuck that one out. Realize that now.) But at the same time it feels like I'm wasting my time.

Late at night, or after reading or watching a really good story, I realize, "Hey. I should be writing stories. That's the only thing that's ever made any sense."

But I don't, or maybe I can't, or maybe I won't. Again, I don't know. I haven't written anything since I've gotten here. Which is part of why I feel like I'm dying inside.

Ugh. I know. Histrionics. But whatevs. I'm an artist, or was once. That's part of the deal. I used to write all the time. I used to live and breath stories. Now I wake up, and I'm so depressed that I've woken up that I roll over and just try to go to sleep again. Now I'm both lonely and longing to be left alone at the same exact time.

I wonder if I'm about to get my period. I wonder if it's lack of sunlight, vitamin D, whatever. Seasonal Affective Disorder or something. Like maybe the clouds will part and I'll find myself able to breathe again.

But right now I just don't even really want to bother waking up tomorrow.

Right now I just don't know.

Friday, January 13, 2017

Poem from October 2016

Look, some things get crushed
They're gone, just dust
Some things crack or snap or tear
Life's a water-logged device
that no bowl of rice
is ever going to repair

Hearts shatter, minds rot
Nothing works as it ought
Worn and rusted right down to the core
Emotions unhinged
like doors no one goes in
that don't lead anywhere anymore

Relationships crumble
Snagged sweaters unravel
Tires go flat, and words cut to the quick
But the worst form of destruction
is despair's age-old seduction:
the lie that says what's smashed cannot be fixed

Don't forget.