The weirdest thing happened to me this morning. John Blase started following me on Instagram. All I did was read the Substack post he’d posted in his stories and said “Great post!”. That’s all I did. This isn’t any different from anything else I’ve ever said to him every so often for the past nine or ten years. Did he follow me when I DM’d him back in Hoyleton about a poem he’d written or a couple of years ago when I asked him about a post I remembered reading but couldn’t find and then he sent it?

No. Did he follow me when I was actually writing things I would’ve wanted him to read like when I’d written several posts that were inspired by something he wrote? Nothing. So I don’t know what it was about this time that made him click the follow button. I’m sure one day he’ll be tired of the hidden burdens that come with fame like never truly feeling known even though all these people think they know you. And he’ll remove my name from his list because we don’t actually know each other. I’m over it now.

It did make me laugh though. Sometimes I read his stuff and think he needs to be happier. I get the melancholy and the fear of happiness because it is often so fleeting. It feels safer to stay in the sad so that when the next round comes it’s not such a shock to the system, or that’s what we can tell ourselves. It would still be a shock but maybe not so far to fall if we were already camped out in the land of the sad. I think we’re robbed of happiness and joy when we do this. Happiness is real, true, and joy is too.

The days are blurring together as they’re known to do this time of year. My body is sore all over after sitting for several hours today in a Cracker Barrel chair. I met my friend Jenna in Lincoln which is basically halfway between here and East Peoria. It’s become a tradition to get together when she’s visiting her parents. She has seven kids now including two set of twins. One set is already something but two is just wild. Our houses are still messes and I’m wondering if I’ll ever be able to report something different.

I process so much that never quite makes it out here. Solidifying thoughts is very difficult, especially deeper ones. Sometimes I wonder if I just closed my eyes and tried to type what I see instead of what I hear if that might make a difference. I come to the end of a post and think, “Surely there was more than that?” More to say, more to express, more to attempt to articulate for clarity’s sake or some semblance of helpfulness. More for another day when closing my eyes was not so wondrous.