Catastrophe Jones

I have forgotten how to do half of it.

I have this new thing I’ve been trying, but I can’t figure out how to publish it on here, because all this website is is a glorified wordpress instance, and I can’t remember how the directories work, otherwise, god help me. If the subscription part of this isn’t working anyway, maybe I burn it all down and start over anyway. People are still reading the old stuff, which is delightful, (if fucking weird, in a way) and it would be sad to lose those fingerprints, but maybe its the last of a skin that needs shedding.

I’ve taken to carrying around a notebook with me. A dear friend suggested it, to use as an outboard memory of sorts, to store thoughts and experiences, to put down literal cut and pastes of things, if need be.

I haven’t written a fucking thing in it, of course, except to state that that’s what it’s for. I know my dear friend will read this and shake his head and probably roll his eyes at me. I know my wife will do the same.

It’s more than a habit — it’s a hallmark of all sorts of neurodivergent nonsense. (My editor has a red line under that word; apparently it hasn’t caught up with today’s vocabulary.) I feel like inscribing my journals/diaries/notebooks with their purpose simply curses them into becoming unused husks of unfulfilled purpose.

I’m not sure this will flow through Tumblr, Facebook, or email subscriptions anymore — I’m shouting into the void right now and that’s okay, because I just need to get moving. I’ve been slowly calcifying in body and mind since at least the pandemic if not before, and if I don’t do some kind of writing, art, something, I’m just going to end up a heap of unmoving sludge.

Even if it’s just posts like this to remind myself I’m alive.

I’m alive.

If this showed up in your email, drop me a line — catastrophe.jones@gmail.com, or a comment below? I promise I won’t use your information to sell you trips to Las Vegas.

…and I hadn’t been able to access the dashboards for this website for quite a bit. It pissed me off, but I couldn’t figure out how to fix it (you have to get to the dashboard to disable the plugins, but you can’t access the dashboard BECAUSE the plugins are fucked), so I’d get frustrated and just leave it. Then I’d go to write something and realize it was still broken, get pissed again, and just leave i.

Finally, I’ve now fixed it while procrastinating about something else, because that’s how we adults with ADD roll.

Or at least that’s how MY feral goblin brain rolls.

Happy Friday, you gorgeous goblins, you.

I’ma try to finish the 823483293 other things I’m supposed to get done today, and then maybe I can see about putting my brain on display again.

I kind of liked that, while it was working, didn’t you?

Friend of mine recently mentioned he’d gotten addicted to the instant feedback one can get, while putting writing up online, and honestly, I have to admit to a hard same, there, but while he’s quit doing it, saying that part of him is done, I think I need to re-start mine.

Not for the stuff I want to submit, but for the everything else, to iron out what’s in my headmeat, which has grown increasingly weird over the past few years. Maybe it’s just age? Probably.