Different Kinds of Lonely

Chapter 1 E___ came home after a long day of work, found J___, and kissed him. Then, she went to look for some ice cream, and found none. She asked J___ what had become of all the ice cream, and he answered, "I was lonely." Chapter 2 E___ went up to her workshop and spent the day working. Then, she went looking for ice cream, and found none. She asked J___ what had become of all the ice cream, and he answered, "I was lonely." E___ replied, "But I was here all day," to which J___ said, "I wasn't lonely for you. I was lonely for ice cream."

On Stories

The past is a story that is written—there for all to see, a solid testament. When a new author takes hold of it, the details change, and in so changing, sometimes the themes change as well, old aspects becoming blurred or being surgically removed, and new ones layered in over them, but at any given point it is a monolithic, self-contained work.

The future is a story that is told—shifting with each telling, adapting to the needs of the audience and the whims of the day. The end seems to change often, but the details less. It exists nowhere but on the fleeting wind carrying it from the visionary to the rapt attendee. Someday, it may be written down and preserved, but in so preserving, it will lose some of the vitality that made it magic.

The present is the teller of these tales, picking and choosing between the myriad visions whirling about in his head, discarding a hundred to find the time to write down one. The one that survives mourns for its lost brethren, but silently, in between the pages of the tale it has become.

Placeholder? No such thing.

Temporary solutions have a terrible tendency to become permanent. Anything that you do the quick and dirty way "just to have something in place" is now sort-of working, so there's much less incentive to do it right in the future. Inevitably, you'll have to change something, and redoing it the right way looks hard, but making a small adjustment looks easy, so you do. Eventually, you have an ungodly mess on your hands, which wisdom dictates you trash and start from scratch, but few people do, inevitably spending more effort to maintain a monstrosity.

The first sentences of the first two entries in this log were entered as mere test values, so I could see what the CSS looked like. However, a single sentence is too short, and I needed enough text to see where the margins lay and how text would wrap, so I added some more random gibberings after the initial one. A day later I felt I had added enough of a paragraph to justify leaving them as actual entries, in fact setting the tone for just what sort of things I should jot down in here.