Tomorrow is my birthday. My birthday is tomorrow. Either way, I’ll be older than I am today, just like today I’m older than I was yesterday. They call this logic, yes? Or rhetoric. I haven’t learned much over the years, least of all to worry too much about counting them.
There was a time when… I don’t have anywhere to take that; it just seemed like a logical sort of transition. I mean rhetorical. I don’t write as much these days as I used to, and I’m happier for it. Well, maybe that’s putting it unfairly. Or inaccurately. Word choice has always been key to me, because few virtues outrank specificity. Apparently I rank virtues. Sort of.
What I mean is I’m happier and I write less. By “write” I mean the physical act of sitting at a keyboard or with a notepad and transcribing thoughts, like these, now. I still “think” about “writing,” and take copious “notes,” little (mostly handwritten) lingual investments in a future I seem to always presume is out there, coming. This presumption has been a habit of mine for many, many birthdays. The few of you out there who know me can attest to this, but please do not, because your attestation is not part of this narrative.
I don’t kill myself over writing anymore, that’s all I’m getting at. And that’s why I’m having another birthday. I don’t try to write for an hour or two each night anymore. I don’t try to write for three or four (or five or six) hours each Saturday and Sunday anymore. This makes me happy, anymore. And at the time in my life when I did write like a marooned madman, happy is something I was not. Which is likely why I wrote so much, and so con-destructively, as if each well-turned phrase was the necessary death or extirpation of some ancillary malevolence either inside or around me, something terrible, beautiful, inane, thereby lightening me up and setting me free(er) to reach beyond the moment, not to other moments but to something exterior and extrinsic to momentness itself.
So, while I don’t “write” as much these days, I still create, and maybe even more, though I rarely sit down for even the fleetingest of moments to exhale some playful drivel like this. But tomorrow’s my birthday, so anything could happen. My guess is I’ll celebrate, logically, by not writing a word.