This seems to be the pattern
After marathon commenting on April's 30firsts30days livejournal site well shit, apparently I have more type in me. First, thought tidbits:
How the hell do I not learn that I am not 20 something anymore, yet I try to play football like a twenty-something with my twentee som'n co-workers? My groin now pays for my flawed thought of un-fleeting youth.
Sorry Sheila for ducking you about dancing with you. Turns out I gotta burn all the fight in me foozballin before I become a lover again.
Organic food is fucking expensive! But, I gotta get back to tip top shape. For why? So I can keep up with the aforementioned 20 somethings and look good once I get back to the dance floor.
Second, it seems the revitalized energy, stalwart resolve and nonchalant wisdom I thought I gained from the last deployment has come and gone. I've regressed back to wrestling with my moods, grappling with my malaise and sparring with my lethargy. Fight gets harder every round and and the temptation grows every so strong to throw that towel.
Yo did I just trail into a mma analogy? Ok for real though I gotta start getting my shit together. I'm not sayin I'm just sayin.
Lastly, writing. If you didn't play WoW so much you'd actually be putting all those ideas bouncing around in your head into paper/computer. Sure, you can say, "Hey I just had a promotion test to study for," which you really didn't. "I had 2 language tests to study for and a third one coming up," you could say if it were really true. Or, you can say, "I'm just not inspired." I'll believe the last statement, but I also believe you've gotten such a dumpy comfort with your "job" that you've lost that drive to strive for anything else. Shame on you man. Get your literary chops back. Write something.
Of course you do get that Vegas style slot machine zen calm whenever you play that game. Of course you realize it's not so much zen calm as it is a drone to mindlessness. So yeah write.
And last note to self . . . this is your last entry here. Proceed on to erroliam.
How the hell do I not learn that I am not 20 something anymore, yet I try to play football like a twenty-something with my twentee som'n co-workers? My groin now pays for my flawed thought of un-fleeting youth.
Sorry Sheila for ducking you about dancing with you. Turns out I gotta burn all the fight in me foozballin before I become a lover again.
Organic food is fucking expensive! But, I gotta get back to tip top shape. For why? So I can keep up with the aforementioned 20 somethings and look good once I get back to the dance floor.
Second, it seems the revitalized energy, stalwart resolve and nonchalant wisdom I thought I gained from the last deployment has come and gone. I've regressed back to wrestling with my moods, grappling with my malaise and sparring with my lethargy. Fight gets harder every round and and the temptation grows every so strong to throw that towel.
Yo did I just trail into a mma analogy? Ok for real though I gotta start getting my shit together. I'm not sayin I'm just sayin.
Lastly, writing. If you didn't play WoW so much you'd actually be putting all those ideas bouncing around in your head into paper/computer. Sure, you can say, "Hey I just had a promotion test to study for," which you really didn't. "I had 2 language tests to study for and a third one coming up," you could say if it were really true. Or, you can say, "I'm just not inspired." I'll believe the last statement, but I also believe you've gotten such a dumpy comfort with your "job" that you've lost that drive to strive for anything else. Shame on you man. Get your literary chops back. Write something.
Of course you do get that Vegas style slot machine zen calm whenever you play that game. Of course you realize it's not so much zen calm as it is a drone to mindlessness. So yeah write.
And last note to self . . . this is your last entry here. Proceed on to erroliam.