Wednesday, July 6, 2016

I Think I Might

Be one of the very few remaining who still write in a weblog without monetizing it. Is this because I do not like money? Of course not. It is a combination of a pathetic lack of marketability and skill with a practiced indifference to goals whose aspirations are opaque to me. Also, I may claim to write in my weblog, but I am not sure if once a year really counts as active.

My posts are either too optimistic for goals I never pursue, too horrible to merit revisiting or too good to overwrite with newer content. At least, this is my perception of them. Whatever my personal hang-ups might be, I did "schedule" one half hour daily to spend time writing and this seemed the easiest place to flush that desire. Why "schedule" and not schedule? Because making a schedule seems, to me, to be so very arbitrary. I am saying I will do this thing of which I am the only determiner. I just learned that determiner and determinant have two very different meanings. I learned this because I don't like the sound of the word determiner and shuddered a bit whilst typing it.

Why did I make a schedule? This is a question likely nobody would ask, yet my desire to answer it results in the following paragraph. I have come to the conclusion that merely existing alongside my children is an unsustainable approach to parenting. I think this is a statement every current parent would deride with unblinking exasperation. I, however, have found there is a great deal of latitude which can be abused in the daily process of keeping my children alive. Mornings, in particular, are a boundary-abusive time for me. The mixture of exhaustion and an internal chemical imbalance result in a different sort of personage than the one I am accustomed to conducting throughout the rest of the day. As my sanity returns during the morning hours, I steadily become more and more horrified at my laissez faire morning attentions.

I've thought to myself that my mornings are particularly lacking. I've chided myself stiffly to be a better father. I cursed and gnashed mentally, not chafing at my inadequacy but celebrating it as proof of what garbage I am. Frighteningly, I've observed these tendencies in Malachi. I suppose he has absorbed it through thematic osmosis. I don't really know. I don't like it. Logically, I can see him being observably lazy as an outcome, yet that's not it. He isn't absorbing the apparent laziness, which, I would note, isn't actual laziness. He is absorbing the self-loathing and disappointment. None of this has been verbalized, so it is mystical in nature I think. I know the Bible warns of this. I know a great many things. It is still a fearsome thing to behold it firsthand, rather than merely in terms of warning or general knowledge.

I have thought a schedule would help my morning haze be wrought as something else. This thought is not wrong, but whether I take advantage of it is another matter.

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