March is approaching its abrupt and
final terminus. Halfway gone is a glass half full. As, in a curious
coincidence, my glass is right now. Life differs in the particulars
but it seems to me that the central tendency thereof remains
unchanged.
I might have amounted to something if
it hadn't been for banjo picking. Or so I may be able to claim at
some hypothetical future point. At which point I will still have
accomplished nothing but may have acquired some proficiency with the
bluegrass banjo. The callouses on my fretting hand have started to
harden and I've gotten a couple roll patterns down. My banjo may even
be in tune. Defeating entropy one string at a time.
After all these years I've retaken up
running. It's like the mob. Years after you think you're out, one
morning you get up and there's a pair of running shoes next to the
door. I may at some point actually run a race again. I feel
frequently frustrated at my dragging pace, which is completely
unreasonable. Nevermore shall I see eighteen, and no cruel taskmaster
has dragged me up the side of a mountain in almost a decade. It'll
probably take at least three months to PR. Of course, by then the
average temperature in the shade will probably be 115 or so. Extreme
dehydration therapy.
I have sought professional
training in the mystical art of how to be funny. This ain't 'nam,
Smokey. There are rules. And I have been learning them. 201 is almost
over, really. Another two more weeks and then another comedy show. I
don't know if it could stack up to our big debut last month, but I
hope that the drop-off in our youthful enthusiasm will be more than
compensated for by an increase in technical proficiency.
Somehow in all the commotion the
regular demands of life continue to proceed. Stuff to read. Books to
find. More stuff to read. Stuff to grade. Some stuff to write. Oddly
spelled words in somewhat less typical alphabets. Birthdays and
drinks and boots and breads. Some considerable amount of time spent
saving a lushly rendered fantasy kingdom from (spoiler alert) certain
doom. One must have one's little diversions.
En sevdiğim
daha çok yazıyorum.
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