I’m definitely in a weird place, so to speak.

I have no idea what my future holds. Honestly, I often don’t feel that I really HAVE much of one; and I’m also realizing that chances are, I have fewer years in front of me than ahead. Grandpa was 69, Dad was 71…if THAT trend continues, I have about 30 years left in me, tops.

There’s a lot in my past that I’d go back and change if I could. That being SAID…I’ve read enough books and comics, watched enough movies and tv, and so on to know that even IF time-travel were possible, it wouldn’t be able to change ME, myself, who I am right now this moment. It’d spin off some alternate universe/timeline, or I’d just cease to exist, etc. OR that time has already been changed, and who/what/how/etc I am NOW is the end result, leaving me no knowledge of the actual alternatives.

Granted, that’s also outside any theology and such, which I’m not getting into here/now.

But it’s something to fantasize about, no?

Changing things, remodeling one’s life based on what one knows and has “now.”

If I were to be able to, I’d want to be able to pick and choose elements from various points in life. If it were linear, by changing something in say, 2009, I’d lose everything and everyone SINCE. Go back and tinker with 2006 or 2004 or 201, and the changes would have larger ripples. But pick and choose? Be able to change some things, but still have other things turn out how they are in the present? THAT would be its own dream.

I’ve just today learned (or re-learned, if I’ve forgotten learning of it before) of a book “The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August” by Claire North that I’m very interested in reading now. Apparently a comic writer whose work I’ve read has been compared to it, and THAT work had sparked some thoughts, so I’m interested in this novel now to see what it has and does story-wise. Essentially the idea of a person dying, and waking up as a child again, with events playing out as they had…but the person remembers that “past life” and can influence events this time around. Again…a fantasy story, fiction…but something to think about.

I’ve been listening through the audiobook of “Dragons of Winter Night” lately–a revisiting of a favorite book from my high school years. Actually–didn’t I just mention that in a recent post, on being Master of stuff?

So it’s still impacting me, revisiting these old familiar characters, and the memories being stirred up. The feelings. Stuff unique to an individual in the reading of a favored story (much the way we can grieve the same person/loss but each person’s grief is different).

Add to revisiting these characters/story that I’ve finally hung a couple of art prints I bought years ago with several of them featured that now hang above my workspace, and a couple of them featuring prominently in “Dragons of Fate” and I’ve had plenty of nostalgia seeping into thoughts and feelings.

Then I randomly recalled a snippet from a song–and tracked it down. Lee Greenwood’s rendition of “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” specifically the line “He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat…” and a trumpet flare behind it. The imagery always put me in mind of Sturm Brightblade and the High Clerist’s Tower in Dragons of Winter Night. But adding that song’s audio stirred something up in the way that music does where voice-only does not.

It was easy enough tracking the specific track down…I looked for the album cover. When I came across it back then (1995 or so), it was a CD that Dad had; so along with Dragonlance nostalgia and such, there’s also been a sense of Dad about.

Further memories stirred up…a trip to New York City freshman year of high school. A busride, a friend, taking some photos, being a long way from home with schoolmates. A hotel pool area and parking myself somewhere to read, cranking my weak headphones up to drown out everything else.

Coming out of Monday’s Griefshare session, I’d been reminded of and was thinking about that one time a few years back when Dad’s friend Eric was visiting; being at a restaurant and just kinda observing/listening to them talk and reshare old stories and whatnot. For the life of me, I can’t remember what the specific story was…but I remember seeing them both break down in laughter; and for me, with Dad especially, it just stuck with me. I’d seen/heard him laugh before, but there was just something to that particular moment; the simple, sheer enjoyment apparent with them, the memory, that the experience they’d talked of still had that sort of effect so many years later.

I’ve myself never been a terribly expressive person, in-person. Orrrrrr…I don’t feel I’ve been. But sometimes people have said they could tell something looking at me, so…I dunno. Suffice it to say, I won’t be put on any gameshows: win, and I could be ecstatic inside but I’m reserved enough around strangers that I’d just sort of “be.” So there’s something to be said about seeing others express feelings more outwardly.

Annnnnnd there we go…my thoughts are jumbling. Time to wrap it up for tonight.