Everything on the internet is so intangible. If this blog were an object, it would be collecting dust right now, but things on the internet don't do that. They just sit, tucked away in the archives of time. I have a sincere belief that the best things in life are intangible, but somehow, I feel better when intangible things can be assigned to tangible things: stories assigned to books, music assigned to CDs, paintings assigned to canvasses. The internet makes me uncomfortable, like everything real is just going to go up in smoke one day and we'll be left with ideas just floating around in air. Which is basically what the internet is.

I don't know where that train of thought came from. I think I've been alone too long. Not in a bad way. In a centering way--like I'm having my own personal little "writers colony experience" in the middle of Chicago while I go about my daily life. I've had weird urges for the last several months to escape somewhere rural and get in touch with my "inner voice" or some kind of bullshit like that. Soon I'll be longing for chaos, but right now this is nice. I like living alone, so far. I feel like myself (whatever that means) here, in ways I haven't in...a long time. So much chaos in the last couple years. Time passes amazingly fast. This is such a strange time.