Ephemerae.

I'm letting ephemera slip away from me. That didn't use to happen. It doesn't happen when I'm in the habit of updating, instead of just reading Livejournal.

I think my posting has gone down since ojouchan moved out her. More specifically, it slowed down when Ojou stopped living inside my computer. When she was in Massachussets, a lot more of my communication with her was spent typing, typing, typing all day and all night; and when she wasn't there to say things to, I'd say things to my journal.

And now, she's just here all the time.

Which is, admittedly wonderful. Right now, the awesomeness of my life is mostly bundled up in living with Ojou, whether she's in the house or elsewhere. But that doesn't make for good conversation, because, you know, she was there for it. And my work doesn't make for good conversation because most of the time, I'd rather forgot I did anything at work other than get a paycheck.

So sometimes I go hiking, or I go over to cramerica's, but for the most part my life is what it was before. Little things: watching Law & Order, listening to podcasts, reading blogs, solving puzzles, doing the dishes, standing on the patch of grass outside our apartment and feeling the sun, walking around the block, running to Griffith Park, buying an extra loaf of bread, looking for my iPod, reading novels, going to the bathroom,

I love doing the little things, I always have. It's part of why I'm such a solitary person. There's so many sources of joy in my life that I need hardly even move to find one.

But I have a hard time communicating it so that it's interesting to other people. Especially to Ojou. I know she likes bigger things, exciting-er things: dancing and parties and fast-paced adventures and romance and intrigue. And I often have a hard time bringing the little things of my life to her in a way that I think will be edifying for both of us.

I watched Law & Order, and it was okay. I like the new ADA, I've been tired of McCoy's style for a while now. And at the end of the episode, there was a teaser for the nightly news. The anchor said, "Up next, a shooting-spree story that will make you angry." As though there were any other kind. Were they so pressed for time that they couldn't write anything more descriptive? Do they realy think that a man firing wildly into a crowd of people will only make their viewers angry when it happens to hurt children? I couldn't decide if it was funny or sad or hateful or pitiful or something else entirely.

But what is there to say in response to that? It just is; it's self contained. And I think, I should put that in my journal; that's where it belongs. But I don't, and I don't know why. And so my head starts to fill up until it overflows and the ephemerae burn off and evaporate in the sun.

I told Cramerica that I have a hard time keeping in touch with my friends. And it's true. It's very true. It's one of the reasons I started this journal almost six years ago. And I don't say much about my life anymore, because it feels so settled right now. I enjoy it so much that I don't need to document every little upturn and downfall. But when I let that get in the way of my writing, I just start to disappear into my own head. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing—we all live inside our own heads—but I do less to make sure that my head has a presence in the world than others.

So I'm going to try to restart writing here. I could say that I'm "living life" and that's getting in the way of the journal, but that's not the whole truth. The life I'm living is a life of ideas. Consuming creativity and letting the ideas bounce around inside me. But if the ideas don't get out, no matter how small, then they die in tragedy. I'm taking too much in, and I'm not putting enough out. Hopefully I can change that.

TueNYTX: 4:45; TueSunX: 6:15.