Why not ask for more?

[cyrano]

I want to communicate. I want to write a post that will talk about how I'm feeling. I am unable to communicate about any topic that's important to me at this time. I want to connect to people. I want to tell a story that's worth the telling. I want to lose myself in a story somebody else tells that's more real than the one I'm in. I want to go back to school, to improve myself. I want to accomplish something I can point to and say "I did that." and actually care. I'm surrounded by the various requirements of merely surviving. And they're smothering me. Opportunities fade, options disappear, and I don't feel like they're being replaced. Or perhaps they are, but not with anything as bright.
My old job at AltaVista had an office building in San Mateo right under the flight path for SFO. I used to sit in my office and look out the window as planes took off and landed and I sat there going nowhere. With this job, the feeling is less intense because I physically go places on occasion.
I'm thinking of taking up Jeremy's "Ask Me Anything Friday" if I can remember to do so, because I want the attention. But for now, tell me something good. About me, about you, about baby duckies and fluffy kittens, about whatever.

Comments

[irismoonlight.livejournal.com]

My elder cat is healing nicely.

I got polled today and got to tell them that I think Karl Rove, Donald Rumsfield and George Bush are doing a shitty job. It was like voting with commentary; strangely satisfying.

I spent the day doing absolutely nothing of any social, societal or monetary value and yet I am happy.

I recently read something by Bradbury as well.. a book of short stories ... and there was something in the back I really liked. He's talking about saving up memories and having them spin out of his mind as stories, about being woken up by them and stumbling to his desk to write them down. He talks about each of the short stories in the collection in that sense. He sums up:

My final advice to myself, the boy magician grown old, and you?
... Speed is everything. The 90 mph dash to your machine is a sure cure for life rampant and death most real.
Make haste to live.
Oh, God, yes.
Live. And write. With great haste.

--Ray Bradbury, Quicker than the Eye