Over Ampin'

Man, it's been a tough week, starting off with a viral bug that's been damn slow to resolve accompanied by one of my semi-famous permanent headaches and bad case of blah blah blah blah blah blah.

There's a strange rhythm to this whole blogging enterprise. The cycle begins with a more or less blank slate. Blog by blog, link by link, post by post it slowly accumulates like arsenic in the bloodstream. After a week or two, I start feeling polluted and reprimand myself for not taking more breaks and getting some fresh air. I realize I haven't been returning phone calls. That simple one or two things I had on my To Do List never got done. And then I start questioning what the hell I'm doing.

Blog lighter, I tell myself, not so much with regard to frequency as subject matter. The world isn't going to stop rotating after stepping down from the soap box. Should I feel ashamed for enjoying "The Apprentice" and writing about my physical ailments? Embarassed to write about my spirituality and personal beliefs? I think the answer is 'no' but I'm not sure; what does that say about me as a person? Am I supposed to feel the shame of narcissism when I write about mundane, egocentric subjects? If I feel averse to writing apolitical material, is that an indication I should be writing apolitical material because I have something to learn? It's not like I ask for contributions or have advertisements or owe anyone anything... so what is the source of that nagging pressure? Am I being too goddamn self-conscious by even pondering these questions aloud? It's a blog, for pity's sake.

And that, my friends, is what happens toward the end of the cycle.

So if I don't blog for a couple of days, you'll know I'm recuperating from the usual and customary blogitis. And that freakin' headache. My weekend's pretty full, so I think I will steal Friday for myself. Turn off the computer. Trim the crepe myrtles. Watch the birds. Listen to that Hartman/Coltrane CD I haven't heard in a while. Prepare a nice meal for Mrs. Hill. And return a long overdue phone call or two.

When I return, I'll probably have an amusing anecdote about having taken my father, who is 73, to the air show on Saturday. Naturally, he's got that generational infatuation with all things military, so it'll be better than Christmas for him. He's not exactly a fan of the Fascist Right, so I'm not really sure how he reconciles his love of military jets with the tragic path America has taken. I suspect it's primarily a matter of nostalgia, and nostalgia is a mighty phenomenon.

Despite my own hitch in the Air Force, I expect - for obvious reasons - the day will be like having my teeth drilled sans anesthesia hour after hour as I wonder how many of the planes I worked on long ago have since rained death on innocent people who never did a thing against my country. But neither fathers nor sons live forever and I know the VIP tickets I managed to snag will make my dad a very giddy geezer, indeed. That makes it well worth whatever discomfort I will undoubtedly be experiencing throughout the day.

Come to think of it, I probably won't have such an anecdote. I think it just wrote itself.

But with any luck, I will be resuming my mission - whatever it is - with a fresh, clean slate so I can do it all over again. Have a great weekend.