Summer. The season for killing this blog. Fall. A time of resurrection. There’s a rhythm to it – maybe it’s a sort of free-verse poetry. No rhyme or reason. Short lines, long lines, dramatic pauses – then the volta between summer lassitude and fall’s invigorating chill. Years ago, I wrote a post about this – and if you’ve landed here looking for something like “how do I answer a call on my Samsung Galaxy blah blah blah” keep reading, because I have good news for you if you’re patient. <\/p>\n
It’s a little dysfunctional, this business of killing off my blog once or twice a year, just so I can revive it.<\/p>\n
I love<\/em> a challenge.<\/p>\n But I loathe dishonesty. The fact is, it has taken me nearly two decades to grudgingly agree with a blog post I read in the late 1990s, likening blogging to self-indulgent, introspective navel-gazing. The thought that skipped right past that conclusion and onto the bullet train to blogging burnout was, “Who the hell wants to read the lint-pickings from my<\/em> bellybutton?” They were so deadly dull, so repetitive, I didn’t even want to expend the energy to type them up, anymore. Commentary on the newsworthy events of the day? Not really in the mood to sprinkle outrage like salt, chew memes, and regurgitate logic, today.\u00a0 I blew 20,000,000 invisible BTUs into my imaginary hot air balloon and drifted away, leaving the sky to the professional commentators.<\/p>\n Depression is an insidious, creeping thing with tendrils that take hold in a brain like ivy on crumbling, stucco walls. In my case, it’s more like root rot than drama. There’s nothing “wrong.” Honestly. It’s not a deep, dark howling abyss. Just a rusted give-a-damn missing a crank shaft, or something. It growls, but refuses to roar back to life. I’m bored of myself. I’m bored of people. Not you, Dear Reader – I could never tire of you. But I am oh-so-weary of that amorphous, amoeba-like entity known as “people.” And I cannot escape its gel-like pull; I, too, am “people.” A bit of goo, just helping to hold the whole intact, no more or less interesting than the rest of the goo.\u00a0 But to write, a writer needs to see the individuals drops in all their iridescent glory – to be able to pull the sweet and brittle threads from the thick-headed mass like a candy\u00a0 maker.<\/p>\n But I don’t want to turn up the flame, either.<\/p>\n And oddly, I can be a very happy depressed person. I’ve been having a fun year, so far. A really good year! Maybe it’s just my “Muse” who’s depressed. Or pouting. Feeling neglected and ignored. “Don’t feel like writing? Fine. See if I care. No words for you.” She sulks in the corner, plucking cobwebs from her scowl.<\/p>\n “Whatever.” I revel in the silence. I listen to other people’s music.<\/p>\n “You could make shit up with the best of them,” she whispers, sucking a spider’s toes.<\/p>\n “If I were evil<\/em>…”<\/p>\n “No, no, no<\/em>.” She stands, her red hair flaming. “It’s only fiction that lets us tell the real truths.” Green eyes flashing, she extends a hand and offers me a spider.<\/p>\n “Shhhh,” I hiss, stepping back. “I just want to lie a while.”<\/p>\n “Suit yourself. If you can<\/em>.” She pops the spider into her mouth, and I hear the unmistakable crunch of words.<\/p>\n I was looking at the blog stats, this morning, and realized that poetry had at last topped “how do I answer my phone” in searches leading readers here. But just barely. And while I’m grateful for any readers, most days, it makes me a little sad. I mean, that post about answering calls on Samsung Galaxy phones has been around since 2019 and people still can’t answer their phone. To be fair, they can’t answer it the way they want <\/strong>to, which is to tap the button on the lock screen once, not slide it towards the hang-up icon or use one of the side buttons. Such a seeminly small annoyance, and yet… This got me to thinking about other “seemingly small annoyances” and how much we take for granted. Which led to a poem. And more thoughts.<\/em><\/p>\n Galaxy users, if you’ve read this far: With the Galaxy 25+ (and maybe models before it) and Android 16, it’s easy – it’s no longer hidden behind the Accessibility menu. Just open Settings and search for “gesture to answer calls” and select “Tap” (or “Swipe” – ain’t choice grand?).<\/p>\n A couple of book recommendations:<\/p>\n First, just about anything by Billy Collins, to get you enjoying the reading of poetry. Forget your high school assignments and your teachers’ insistence on you picking apart meaning from T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland” or some dusty Shakespeare sonnet (though I do recommend you grown-ups take a closer look at #130). <\/p>\nBe patient…<\/h2>\n
For Once<\/h3>\n
For once, I hate poetry<\/a>\r\nhas overtaken how do Ianswer a call<\/a>? I only wish\r\nto tap the screen\r\nnot sliiiiiiide a button\r\n(like those iPhone users do)\r\nnot skate my fingertip\r\nacross ice-smooth Gorilla glass - \r\njust tap. And yet, \"accessibility\"\r\ngets in my way, at every turn.\r\nThat floating menace menu\r\ndancing, mocking me as if \r\nto say we can \r\ninconvenience you \r\nand those who need us most.\r\nAnd I am acutely aware, now\r\nhow grudging the accommodations -\r\nhow resentful they are. How\r\nthey are designed to make us \r\nall resentful \r\nof the little things. Like\r\nsliding a finger\r\nor feeling the cold stall\r\nwall against a hip\r\nwhere they removed inches\r\nto make one - just one -\r\nwide enough for a wheelchair\r\nwhen they could have removed \r\na sink. It hasn't worked\r\nof course. It's only served \r\nto make me grateful \r\nfor those stolen moments I \r\nwould cheerfully give\r\nthat there, but by the grace\r\nof fate, go I.<\/pre>\n
OK, fine…here’s your update<\/h2>\n
More for the “I hate poetry” folks<\/h2>\n