Posted by David
on Jun 5, 2007 in Upside-down Hippo
| 0 comments
Five years ago today, I typed the first words in this madcap chronicle. I was living in Jackson Heights, New York, and Goblin Foo Uvula was not even two years old. For her, a lifetime has gone by, and it feels like that for me, as well. No longer am I that wide-eyed youth of eighteen who changed apartments and jobs every year of his life. I am a family man now, married, a homeowner, running a business, saving up for Goblin’s college tuition. Yes, I’m on the verge of nervous collapse and I’ve barely seen any of my friends in months, if not years, but credit where it is due.
I’ve seriously entertained the idea of ending today. This could be my farewell to the blogging world. Not dramatic or pretentious, just a quiet goodbye, a gentle expression of gratitude to those who have stuck with my bemused ramblings for five years or any part thereof. Sometimes, I’m reminded that there are more of you than I ever would have thought, and it gives me a funny feeling, not in a bathing-suit place; a fluttering inside the hollow chest cavity where my heart ought to be.
I don’t know. Five years is such a nice, round number. It feels complete, an accomplishment, a cycle, a Bolshevik plan. If I stop now, I could move on to something else entirely. You wouldn’t miss me for long. No one still cares about Seinfeld or Ross and Rachel. The world moves too fast.
Or I could continue on in the same vein for all time. I could forever regale you with tales of the gym and the grocery store and the mixed bag of nuts I meet on the streets. Whenever I happen to notice it’s Friday, I could dredge up a chupacabra. I worry that if I leave, there won’t be enough chupacabras in your life.
I guess six is sort of a round number, too.