Goodness, gracious, I haven’t penned an MMC since fucking June?
This summer: it was all a blur (and then it was nothing).
Goodness, gracious, I haven’t penned anything in here since September?
This past month: it was all a blur (and then it was nothing).
Goodness, gracious, I haven’t taken a breath since the pandemic ended?
This pandemic: it was all a blur (and then it was nothing).
Over the weekend I had a dream that I was on campus, dying of COVID. In case you’re wondering how I’m doing. Over the past few weeks I swear the right side of my beard has gone entirely gray. In case you’re wondering how I’m doing. I feel like a husk, hollowed out, but excited to be back on campus. It’s a weird time, a ghost town, a mournful tribune to what we’ve lost, while appreciating we’re back on campus.
It’s a weird time.
Furthermore, I don’t really know the state of OL anymore. No one really reads blogs anymore, Discord has siphoned all of our conversation, and any meaningful connections with communities across the internet have seemingly moved to Substack.
So why the fuck am I here? Honestly? I’m not sure. If nothing else, I figure writing MMC every week could serve as an enjoyable fossil record for my interests at any given point in time. You can cut the rings in my soul, and chronicle what was on my mind. As well, I miss writing and this place is my only outlet.
This is Monday Morning Commute.
Hello, friends. Come in, come in. Grab your voucher for a free download of RelaxYourFatCorpus.exe and let the soothing algorithms greetyour meat-processor. It’s the weekend. This is the OpenBar. The weekly one-stop for the populace of Space-Ship OMEGA to gather. Take off our shoes. Take off our pants. Shake one another’s hands (?). Then straight DigiChill.