The Digital Tomb...
I just said goodbye to my dog.
He didn't die thank God. That would have wrecked me.
He just went to hang out with his grandma for the night.
Those two are old souls. Probably making good on unfinished business from lives past.
The thought of it makes me smile.
Today I've had the day to myself which is rare.
Much needed time to reflect and decompress. Time to reverse engineer the last three hundred and sixty five twenty fours.
Life has been busy and slow and empty and full.
It's been up and down and all of the above.
It's been ad infinitum and whatever else describes the endless flow of days.
They pile up and spill out all over the floor, in a crash, like a fumbled pitcher of sweet iced tea that slipped from the hands of a little kid trying to impress a living room full of adults, gathered around the dining room table, locked in a game of charades.
I'm feeling a little bit vulnerable right now.
My emotions have been waiting patiently. Waiting for the bandages to come off. Tentative emotions. Emotions standing in front of the mirror like the newly constructed face a second before the big reveal.
Maybe it's the leftover ham or the Brandi Carlile streaming on the Sonos. Or maybe it's because I made a trip to the cemetery to visit an old friend.
It could be all of that stuff.
Or maybe it's the pictures.
I've been looking at pictures.
Thousands of pictures.
All day long.
Old pictures of stuff I haven't seen in years.
Looking at old pictures by yourself can be strange.
It's like walking through a museum in your brain and the exhibit is plethoric with art; Art both ugly and beautiful.
Art that makes you feel like Rudy being carried off the field. Art that makes you feel like the Champ won't wake up.
My daughters are growing up in real life. They say things like, "I hate you!" and "you're the worst dad ever!".
Then I look at the pictures and they say things too.
Pictures of game farms, fake sleeping on couches and blowing out birthday candles.
They say things like, "I love you!" and "you're the best dad ever!".
Then I get that stupid Rudy feeling and the Champ not waking up feeling all wrapped up in a tight wonderful knot.
Today I stumbled upon a treasure chest buried in a digital tomb. It was filled with gold and silver and diamonds and rubies.
Treasure in the form of memories.
Memories disguised as pictures.
Treasure buried and found and now buried again.
By me.
Treasure that will wait impassively for the next three hundred and sixty five twenty fours for the bandages to come off.
He didn't die thank God. That would have wrecked me.
He just went to hang out with his grandma for the night.
Those two are old souls. Probably making good on unfinished business from lives past.
The thought of it makes me smile.
Today I've had the day to myself which is rare.
Much needed time to reflect and decompress. Time to reverse engineer the last three hundred and sixty five twenty fours.
Life has been busy and slow and empty and full.
It's been up and down and all of the above.
It's been ad infinitum and whatever else describes the endless flow of days.
They pile up and spill out all over the floor, in a crash, like a fumbled pitcher of sweet iced tea that slipped from the hands of a little kid trying to impress a living room full of adults, gathered around the dining room table, locked in a game of charades.
I'm feeling a little bit vulnerable right now.
My emotions have been waiting patiently. Waiting for the bandages to come off. Tentative emotions. Emotions standing in front of the mirror like the newly constructed face a second before the big reveal.
Maybe it's the leftover ham or the Brandi Carlile streaming on the Sonos. Or maybe it's because I made a trip to the cemetery to visit an old friend.
It could be all of that stuff.
Or maybe it's the pictures.
I've been looking at pictures.
Thousands of pictures.
All day long.
Old pictures of stuff I haven't seen in years.
Looking at old pictures by yourself can be strange.
It's like walking through a museum in your brain and the exhibit is plethoric with art; Art both ugly and beautiful.
Art that makes you feel like Rudy being carried off the field. Art that makes you feel like the Champ won't wake up.
My daughters are growing up in real life. They say things like, "I hate you!" and "you're the worst dad ever!".
Then I look at the pictures and they say things too.
Pictures of game farms, fake sleeping on couches and blowing out birthday candles.
They say things like, "I love you!" and "you're the best dad ever!".
Then I get that stupid Rudy feeling and the Champ not waking up feeling all wrapped up in a tight wonderful knot.
Today I stumbled upon a treasure chest buried in a digital tomb. It was filled with gold and silver and diamonds and rubies.
Treasure in the form of memories.
Memories disguised as pictures.
Treasure buried and found and now buried again.
By me.
Treasure that will wait impassively for the next three hundred and sixty five twenty fours for the bandages to come off.
