Chocolate Shoes updates daily at about 8 pm Mountain.

Chocolate Shoes updates daily at about 8 pm Mountain.

Thinking about this as I shove my collected physical life into cardboard containers, I realize, once again, that I am not usual. People that share my outlook are not trees in the forest, being forcefully uprooted and moved to make way for the new.  We are the tumbleweeds, drying up and moving on after one season.

Perhaps it’s that I’m young(ish) and I have put down no real roots to speak of. I have no children, no wife, no house, no land, and only a vague concept of “home”.  Perhaps it’s that I’ve not built myself a permanent life. But that’s excuse, not reason. The truth is that nothing dissatisfies me more, nothing scares me more, than an inescapable rut. A permanent physical place has always struck me as the first and final step to wallowing in your own crapulence forever. And so I move.

It’s the thrill of a new personal environ, unsullied by my continued presence.  An escape from the byproducts of me.

It’s the thrill of temporary and not-so-temporary breaks with personal contacts and relationships. A massive game of hide-and-seek.

It’s the thrill of streamlining and cleaning, taking along only that which is me and discarding the rest. Casting off that which was easier to just allow to hang around.

Moving is a grand excuse to, well, move. Allow your mental state to reflect your physical change, and you get a savory little taste of real freedom. For a moment you can be you, unburdened by yourself, by the tiny bits that make up a “life”.

Enjoy this, use it. Your tumbleweed self will eventually be caught in the corner of the fence, crumbling into a collection of brittle twigs, dropping seed, and growing anew…until you dry and tumble again.

Listening to: “I Should Be Writing #84″ by Mur Lafferty
Reading: “Smoke and Mirrors” by Neil Gaiman
Writing: “Grandfather Klaus” (Excerpt coming soon)

I’m also in a preliminary stage of working on a novel vaguely intended for young adults currently going under the name of Grandfather Klaus. The people I’ve told about it so far seem quite excited and interested by the concept, so I’m encouraged and pressing forth. (I’d be pressing forth anyway, but having other people ask where I am in the process and how long until they get to read it helps.)

At this exact moment, however, I’m sorting thoughts by drawing for my friend Skye, developing a Dark Mark tattoo. She’s getting it on her wrist, should it be to her liking.

It’s a ridiculous word. It doesn’t make you sound smart, it simply makes you appear to have watched 5 minutes of political news in the past 4 years. It is inelegant and inaccurate and lacks any impact it may have once had. It has become a highly overused non-word.

If the statement is a lie, call it a lie. If it’s poorly researched, say it’s poorly researched. If it’s feigned naivety, say so.

The overuse of “disingenuous” lacks candor and gives a false appearance of being frank. In short, it is truly disingenuous.

So stop already.