(no subject)
Today is Sunday. The day after this one is another work day. It seems that there is a homogeneous blanket that connects one day to the others. There is only work, pining, and a frustrating static in between. This is being an adult. But fuck adults. I want to continue with this stuff, but I would rather try and have a creatively inspired life that will force me into taking alternate routes. But for a while I felt that I would be all too willing to shed my weirdness to make a fit.
I don't want to waste time dicking around with pretenses. I am much too stupid to keep track of all the faces I should wear anyway. The people that have known me best love me best. Even though that leaves about two people in the world; better two good friends then no good friends.
With out further digression, I have been wondering what in this world will keep me on the edge of my seat with the hair staying on my head at the same time. Maybe it will be the sense of my wild youth reverberating into my adult years as a brave minded professional taking risks I believe are worth taking, and in its turn stunning colleagues and the world in general...blah...those kind of guys turn out to be dick heads in real life.
Jen told me that she would help me write by keeping me indoors till boredom sat in. My inclinations are to marry her as soon as possible. But I have few things to tell people in writing. Besides sitting down to write creates a break between the subject, the people reading the writing, and the writing itself. There is also an uncomfortable transition between what happened and how it should be told. Why would I sit through that awkwardness, and then expect an audience to do the same? Come to think of it the way writing can make beggars out of the confident when approval is needed makes me squelch that much more.
I think I will leave the next adventure to fate; much how I am starting to believe the others came about. For now I am a flag in the wind. The colors remain up, but not yet taken to campaign.
I don't want to waste time dicking around with pretenses. I am much too stupid to keep track of all the faces I should wear anyway. The people that have known me best love me best. Even though that leaves about two people in the world; better two good friends then no good friends.
With out further digression, I have been wondering what in this world will keep me on the edge of my seat with the hair staying on my head at the same time. Maybe it will be the sense of my wild youth reverberating into my adult years as a brave minded professional taking risks I believe are worth taking, and in its turn stunning colleagues and the world in general...blah...those kind of guys turn out to be dick heads in real life.
Jen told me that she would help me write by keeping me indoors till boredom sat in. My inclinations are to marry her as soon as possible. But I have few things to tell people in writing. Besides sitting down to write creates a break between the subject, the people reading the writing, and the writing itself. There is also an uncomfortable transition between what happened and how it should be told. Why would I sit through that awkwardness, and then expect an audience to do the same? Come to think of it the way writing can make beggars out of the confident when approval is needed makes me squelch that much more.
I think I will leave the next adventure to fate; much how I am starting to believe the others came about. For now I am a flag in the wind. The colors remain up, but not yet taken to campaign.