Mark's Pages

November 2, 2011:

My own space. One bedroom with enclosed patio roofed by young green trees. Wall of books in milk crates; chair and desk stolen long ago from the dorm; inexpensive wooden table. Same interior for two decades, across the continent, the furniture of a college student. Now the rooms are entirely my own, unshared, for the first time in my life at almost age forty.

In debt but improving. Miss my girlfriend who's far far away. Like my job but leaving for a better one. Own suits, have credit cards.

I retired from the revolution because the leaders were incompetent, because I was massively in debt, because I was too old to work comfortably with college students anymore, because I wanted to become expert with Internet technologies which I correctly predicted would become an unprecedented organizing platform.

So: what does it mean? Is this the beginning of my life, or the end?

Yesterday was the first serious spring rain, a downpour which sounded and smelled magnificent through the open patio door. I took the phone there so my girlfriend could listen to it.

Maybe we have more lives than we imagine.