marking time

I would like for these thoughts, these sentences I am posting here, to be anonymous, not tied to my name, or to be at least semi-anonymous (what would that mean?). You may have to dig. I am not so naive as to think that one can do anything online in 2019 anonymously. What am I afraid of? Being cancelled? I cancel myself.

What I know,  I have not been able to bring myself to set down my thoughts in writing but very seldom. One loses the reflex, the capacity, the routine. I am leaning into middle age, disaffected, consumed by routine, familial duty, seeking an outlet, a fleeting escape from this year that has been so unusual for my family and myself. Several years ago, in my early thirties, I had begun to joke about my mid-life crisis, because I like to anticipate things, and because my sense of humor skews ████. Perhaps this tiny collection of writings can be a small part of it. The crisis I mean. Writing as a certain kind of anonymity appeals to me. Like a certain someone, who only ever wrote to burn his name to the ground. (He never did succeed, at least not yet.)

Someone will find me out. That is no challenge, it won’t be hard.

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