I meant to start microblogging for May yesterday but forgot. I’ve switched over to bullet journaling on the iPad instead of physically and also Saturday is my work Friday so when the day’s over, I don’t really want to think. Or consult my bullet journal. So I missed microblogging yesterday, but all of a sudden it seems like a good idea to do a post now.

I had hoped a month away from daily microblogging would make the heart grow fonder, but it did not. Not having to write a microblog post almost immediately stopped being a thought, once I’d stopped the practice. Maybe I was playing too much Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla. Outside actual writing school, I’ve tried the daily writing practice and the daily writing practice has always been bad. Maybe it’d work if writing weren’t the inevitable plus one to my day, the last thing dot I need to ex. My brain hasn’t got the space.

Even now I’m thinking I can check off tomorrow’s microblog to do item because I’m doing this post today. Even now I’ve lost the train on the writing I wanted to do in this post. Some of it is because it’s the not book. The not book continues to loom, I can sit imagining it literally hidden away in the closet—I made curtains so I wouldn’t occasionally see the box of not book stuff out of the corner of my eye–Lovecraftian tentacles reaching out in the seventh dimension to slither into my ears and brain and… do whatever they’d do.

I really wish I could draw. Even if I could do comic strip style. If I could draw—or didn’t loathe the sound of my voice—sky’s the limit (also figuring in I’m a white guy in his early forties, I lived through the prime mediocre white male media creator ascent eras; hell, I even wrote a novel about it).

I ordered a new iMac the other day—by other day I mean I very casually ordered it as soon as humanly possible, refreshing and refreshing until the order would go through and so on. I think I’m convincing myself somehow this new iMac will lead to a renewed creativity, facilitating some new spark, not just being a literal portal to the PS4 and the “kill the Nazi zombies” game I’m playing while listening to John Carpenter’s Lost Themes when I’d otherwise be… well, probably doing laundry.

I’m planning new videos for sure. How could I not with Neural Mix Pro being a thing (it uses machine learning to separate vocal and music elements from audio tracks, something my best friend lied to me about being possible back in 1989 and has plagued my mind since). But I also heard a rumor Final Cut Pro is going subscription, which would make a lot more sense than trying to justify the $200. Or is it $300. For zero return. At least with Vellum (an eBook maker app), I’m 1% on my way to recouping the investment. I made seventeen eBook collections last month, rolling that project into the Stop Button refresh. It’s been way too full a year; I finally got my desk cleaned up from all the projects I’d started and stopped with it. Everything electronic is in a good place. Save the wires. The wires still need work.

I also cat-proofed the area Gregory loves to go play and fuck around with wires and NASes and switches and power cords and whatever else he can chew. I made it cat friendly, with a temperate pet mat and a fluffy shark cave; he avoids it like the plague.

Rhyming unintentional. Too much Valhalla.

I’ve also decided I’m not writing about sitcoms the first time through. It’s way too much work. I took solid notes on the first three or four “Ted Lasso” episodes, only to realize worrying about writing about it would just distract from the experience so I stopped taking notes. I didn’t even try with “Rutherford Falls,” which is good because I can’t not see Ed Helms as a Jason Sudeikis knock-off who doesn’t get it.

I’m concerned I may need to give Sudeikis another chance—I was able to easily dismiss him after Horrible Bosses was horrible—but given I’m finally on track to rewatch Desert of the Tartars some seventeen years after I meant to see it again….

It’ll be a while.

I’ve had the double shot, the weather’s not fogging my glasses when I wear a mask, it’s not cold out all the time—I’m ready for some kind of cocoon emergence (we’ve instituted a daily walk, I’ve started running—no more races ever, well, maybe a triple dash)—but I can’t shake feeling like it’s still just lockdown, it’s still just work from home. I hate going outside too, so it’s clearly getting bad now.

I miss air, it turns out. And smells.

I do not miss driving. Hate driving. But air and smells? They’re all right.