So I went on vacation for two weeks... felt like longer. To Oregon, Northern California, thereabouts. It was a good vacation, but I guess I don't really need to detail it here. So... I don't know what I'm writing here, just writing. I do have things to say, maybe...
Even out on the river, in the middle of the Wild and Scenic, I found myself thinking about the Internet and stuff more than I should have been - even thinking of what I would do once I got back. And that's just not okay - the Wild and Scenic is far more important and should be appreciated as such; the time-wasting bits of the Internet are just for filling the time between better things. So I'm limiting myself to two hours of Recreational Internetting a day now - I think that's the right amount, since I have with some slight difficulty been able to stick to that resolution so far, and it's forced me to find other things to do with my boring summer time, even if that is just reading books.
Can't do outdoors summer things in boring summer time because apparently all of North America is under this massive heat wave and it's ninetysome degrees Fahrenheit every day (Dash you would die, literally!) and even here where it's always clear and dry it's cloudy and humid - we never get humid, and never get hot and cloudy, but we have it now.
Rafting was great. Caving was great. As You Like It fell short of expectations, but expectations were very high.
Went to the Winchester House on the way home. I've been wanting to go there for a long time - remember reading about it in a magazine when I was in maybe kindergarten, maybe a little older. It's beautiful. Less insane than I expected, and more just odd. Less haunted. Less sad. They didn't play up the haunting for the tourists, either - just treated it as a historical oddity. I loved it.
Thinking about other stuff, family related stuff, but don't really want to write about it 'cause it involves a lot of reflection and abstraction and I-don't-know-ing. Eh. Maybe some other time.
Found out that Sage died while we were away. Nobody mourned, nobody wept. Not sure why. Maybe it's because we haven't had to live in the house without her yet. Maybe it's because we had already sort of accepted her as dead, already done our mourning in the weeks leading up to. I know I loved her, and we all did. Don't know why we're not more sad. But it's okay.
May come back and edit and add stuff. May not. We'll see.
Good night all.
Edit. Just putting stuff here either because I forgot to mention it earlier, or deliberately neglected to mention it earlier, or hadn't thought of it earlier, or it hadn't happened yet earlier, and is 'either' an appropriate word when it's between four options? Regardless:
I've noticed that I just don't really care anymore - not even in a bad way. Things I cared about being lost forever, and I know I cared about them but I also know that getting upset won't bring them back, which is what you always try to think but usually it never works. It's a little disconcerting that it works so easily for me now. Sage dying, of course, is the biggest example. I loved her, now she's gone, but it's okay. Smaller things, too. The tiny gold kangaroo pin that some stranger gave to me in Chile - lost on the Rogue River. I had vowed to carry it around the world and pass it on to some other kid decades from now. Now I can't do that, but it's okay. Yesterday I got three moles removed - one of them my parents have been trying to get me to remove for ten years or more, and I'd fought to keep it, not even sure why anymore, something about being against surgery without medical necessity. I didn't care anymore by the time they took it off, but I used to care. Bits of my own body being cut away, but it's okay.
Memories, too, maybe. I don't know what I've forgotten to make room in the old hippocampus for chemistry, biology, history, song lyrics, random amusing shit. Maybe nothing. But forgetting most of one's childhood is inevitable, right? No adult remembers more than a few things from before he was twelve. And my family took lots of photographs.
And I think I've got whatever's the opposite of depression - just a total inability to be unhappy. It took some effort to even dredge up enough angst to write this edit. Bored is about as far from happy as I get (summer is so boring, always has been, aside from adventures and stuff). Even Sage's death was met with nothing more than a moment of solemn silence.
So I don't know. Don't really care. Whatever. Regardless. All okay.