greyduck.net

And now for a 180-degree snap turn in tone and mood, I present you… rubber ducks being launched from a barrel.

As space programs go, it’s a bit in the early stages, admittedly.

Among the things I expected when I awoke this morning, such as “oh crap I don’t want to deal with Monday” and “I hate the onset of summer weather,” I didn’t count a strong bout of “but what do you bring to the table, really?”

Especially when I’m not sure I bring anything to the table. Ever feel like you’re just a space filler?

I need my camera back so I can get cracking on more comics. At least then I’ll be making something.

There’s nothing quite like the realization that you were wearing the wrong black jeans to work all week…

…and that it was the pair which was due for structural failure…

…that had finally started to give out at some point in the week, unnoticed until Saturday morning.

Sigh.

2012 is shaping up to be quite the year. This month alone:

• I bought a brand new bed. To the best of my recollection (which is, admittedly, rather sketchy) this is my first major brand-new furniture purchase. I’d like to thank Cotton Cloud Futons for their excellent products & service, by the way. Once I got used to the lack of poking & creaking of springs, I started getting much improved sleep.
• I turned 40. Apparently this is some sort of major milestone. I don’t feel any different, really.
• I will no longer be making Tuesday visits to see any of my rugrats, since they’ve both essentially left home. My son’s off at school, and my daughter has moved in with a friend to seek her fortune as an adult out in the world. It’s the end of a long and strange era; I wonder how many other divorced parents have stuck with a twice-a-week visiting timetable like mine.

What’s next? I don’t know, and I’m trying not to worry about it.

“Trying” is the operative word, there. Heh.

A strange thing happened during the months immediately after I lost my old job, six years ago this week.

I stopped writing & responding to email. Yes, in general, I reply to most of the more timely missives (“Shall we do X on Y date?”) but casual conversations tend to fall right off the radar. Actually, it’s worse than that: I leave things in my Inbox to remind me to deal with them, and those messages sit there… sometimes for months. All I have to do is open up a message and type a reply, so what’s my deal?

I honestly couldn’t tell you. The strange thing is that I used to be Mr. Email, I loved typing back & forth and eagerly pounced on an opportunity to reply to a message. Somewhere during that emotionally crippling spring & summer, however, that went entirely away. Now I have to push myself to reply to a simple message that requires anything more than a one-sentence reply. It doesn’t matter who the email is from, either. Parents, sibling, children, girlfriends, old friends, complete strangers, all have about the same chance at getting a timely response.

I don’t know what this all means, other than to note one more part of my psyche that broke in 2006. Of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most…?

Not that I’ve completed the full three years, but I’m feeling retrospective or introspective or like making a spectacle of myself or something, so my thoughts while nearing the conclusion of another year of Quacked Panes may be enjoyed forthwith.