I’ve had a pretty lazy day. I’ve been getting a bit frantic lately for no reason. I guess that after all this time, I still have major doubts about which direction I should head in life. Honestly, I have no idea if I’ll ever resolve this stuff in my head. I know that I should write every day, yet I avoid it as if I hate it. After I avoid it, I feel like crap because I haven’t done it. When I actually get down to doing it, it is pretty enjoyable. What’s wrong with me? I feel so messed up when it comes to things like that. Instead of doing something, I agonize about how I should do it, spend hours reading about doing it and how I should do it, and coming up with alternatives to doing it which will make me rich and give me tons of time to do anything I want. In the end, I am stuck sitting here in front of my computer realizing the fact that I’ve just wasted another day which could be spent furthering my skill and lessening the pain to which I drive myself steadily. I need to find some sort of project which occupies my time - something which requires modest amounts of research and detailed writing based on that research. What I need is some sort of minor starting job to make me feel as if I can actually write instead of sitting here telling myself I might be able to write.
Ah, you were right, Edgar. In the case of my creativity, misery is manifold. You were a bit of a downer, I must say…how we do this to ourselves is beyond my comprehension.
Oh well. So, Valentine’s Day, eh? I wrote Steph a silly poem as my gift. We’re never really big about giving each other gifts, except on birthdays. It is nice to have no pressure in that sense, but I hope there isn’t some sort of rage building inside of her which will tear up swathes of rural Scotland if she decides to destroy me.
If anyone reads my posts anymore - hi! I used to have so many online friends, but now my reclusive nature has extended into my online presence and I guess I’ve built a hermitage in a tiny part of the web. Unfortunately, it is the part that has spiders and mildew and wretched stray dogs with fur worried patchy and thin by their gnashing teeth as they vainly try to rid their bodies of fleas. I always told myself I’d be happy to be a hermit, but I’m beginning to think otherwise in my old age. My vast 28 years of experience have yielded much wisdom, this being the latest data gem gleaned from that proverbial database. I long for a nice internet campfire with stories aplenty, a minstrel’s sweet ballads, ample food, good company and good cheer. Maybe I’ll build an internet campfire website - a web application of some sort. Social networking, and all of that.
What kind of websites don’t exist that you’d want? I’ll steal your ideas and make them. I’ll cut you in on the profit, though.