The Middling City is awash in temperance of the weathery kind.
Bulbs are confused. People are confused. Scarves or not. Sunscreen or not.
Really or not.
Yesterday I had to make environmental ports of a newbie to the big U, a nouveau PhD in the communications department who postulates/theorizes/writes about this very type of online fascination.
I told him some fun facts about epinw, that I'm a long-time blogger via Blogger, and a few other (m)usings, including how there have been moments when a reader feels they must disguise the fact that they have done some epinw reading.
According to the blog theorist, Stefanone, this is all about Equity Theory.
A fun mathematic equation. You. You say. Me. YT says.
And if there is no parity there and then then the awkwards set in.
He's asked me to write a narrative about this experience, about the years. He asked the big Why. Because once I discovered blogging I knew that it would be a way to record the ongoing, sometimes odd, narratives around me. And gathering narratives becomes a hobby, when you become forensic with the world it is another place and keeps your hands in creation. We moved onwards to discuss MySpace & Facebook, and he demo'd Facebook, a Blade Runneresque way of discovery in a flash - the pet peeves and the like of others out in the world who've tossed together a summation of their personas. Stefanone mentioned the Machiavellian possibs of all this scanning, forecasting, e-learning of others.
It's just layering of narratives to be used in wise moderation.
Dig.
Was shooting gig numero threeo yesterday when I was spotted by a teen I have known, who I have enjoyed talking to. NANCY she shouted. So I sat with her whilst she took a break from her history homework. My parents are taking me to a therapist she blurted out. And then I missed suddenly the blurts of young girls, like those I taught at the summer camp that Maine-rich decade.
I asked her if she is crazy. She said no. And I think I know this girl enough to know that she might recognize if she were crazy. She does not feel it to be so. We discussed the differences between crazy and creative, and the feeling of not being with one's people. I talked to another child, request of the mom, about being a creative in a sometimes kookily straight world. That those people are out there and you have to keep on truckin' and writing or whatever that impulse is until those people are found. So I kept on talking about crazy v. not crazy with this teen child. One man's crazy is another man's creative.

Creative, crazed Love.