crowings

Whelp, I'm still here in name, but a bit too jumbled around to be anything besides at the moment. I've been plunged back into familiar surroundings, but (as always) the circumstances are different; what's old is new, what's new seems just a hidden redundancy to be puzzled out. I think I must be a drifter at heart, as I've never been found to tie myself down for very long to any one thing, place, idea, or person. And at times (such as the present) I find all my lashings break off at once and I go whipping around, full of glee or sorrow or both.

Ho-hum, so it goes.

The romantic in me says one day I will find that one rock to latch my bounty onto, that one who can hold me rooted forever, give me shelter and comfort in the face of the world's throes, and of course reel me lovingly back in should I ever (my brain in a brine-soaked mania) attempt a daring seaward escapement.

I'm not sure what brings on these bouts of idealistic romanticism (or the heavy-handed aquatic analogies for that matter), but I just feel the need to let them loose every now and then.

It is truly a most insoluble and inscrutable pancake.