The Moon Ticks On

Loren (mcint) July 02, 2023

The moon ticks forward, slowly. You'd waste your time by watching.

The moon rises over my shoulder, peeking over the hill. I text a friend, I bounce back to the kitchen, tending my dinner prep. The time is 8:51, I had to check. I took a picture.

I've announced a plan for the evening. Bed early, 10 if I can, 11, more realistically. If I can just get in a few more bits of job applications and preparing a freelance listing.

The moon ticks forward slowly.

I'm back from the kitchen. An easy prep. A delicious rediscovery of potatoes and onions, diced, seasoned, microwaved, and baked. I sit back down. The moon sits higher, no longer peeking, 3 diameters above the hills. The earth has turned, the earth keeps turning, moon slowly following, completing its orbit but once a month. The earth will slow, the moon will drift away, another tick towards eternity I see out the window.

What have I achieved, what am I doing. Some more reading while I finish a salad and savory feast.

There's much to learn about energy. Oil, hydrocarbons, especially gas, growth continues faster than solar despite huge federal subsidies and support. Something like 6 times more. The author wishes that investment went to nuclear instead. Relatabled. But, as he wrote over a decade ago in his book, “If oil didn’t exist, we’d have to invent it.”

The moon ticks forward slowly, rising higher over my left shoulder. As far again as the last time I looked.

I decide to write a story. Something about this moment, not a sonder at the sea of perspectives that have flooded the world in my lifetime and the lifetimes before it, but a question of the time, how to enjoy it. How far the transhumanist project will take me, or might take others, what to do with the time in the cosmos.

I have an avoidant approach to many concerns, don't do work that isn't needed, and a desire to experience: a variety of things, and good things. Hedonism and curiosity. Although I'd call my hedonism modest.

I sat down to write this, no, I was sitting. I dragged myself away from fighting the memory usage fight--tabs, tabs, messengers, and big apps--to write a note. To you, to my future self. To note some minor pain, some frustration, some wondering. And to practice the habit of writing it down. I felt struck. This is my channel.

It's 11 now, the moon is higher still. Feels like it could have crossed a third of the sky, at least what I can see. The friend texts back, their evening task done. I'll give myself 30 minutes more, 10 each for tonight's tasks, tomorrow's plan, and prep for bed.

the moon ticks on. my worry, for now, is quiet.

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