To internet or not to internet.

not intentionally promoting a book or movie, just an appropriate image.

Officially another year older. 

A new job.

In a new district.

The same insecurities.

It has been more than a year since I started therapy.  I have now tried quite a few different chemical and non-chemical solutions.

I am far from cured.

In fact, I worry lately that I'll never get there.  To destination happyville.

Or even contentment county.



Today, for the first time in a long time, I played a scene in my head.  Like I used to do.  A new scene for Cedar Falls.  It wasn't anything terribly awesome, but it was something.  There's been so much of nothing for so long.  Occasionally there'd be snoppets of dialogue.  Images, certainly.
moments.

But this was an entire scene.  With my old friends. 

But this maked me more than a mite concerned. 

Concerned, because I've noticed that my characters only come out to play when I've missed a dosage.

Yeah.

How's that for a demon to stare down? 

I can only create when I'm crazy?  Well, isn't that the struggle artists, actors, musicians, and comedians have been enduring since Prometheus gave us fire? 

Not a comfortable notion.  I don't believe I'm equipped, mentally to examine this complexity further.  Don't think I have the emotional werewithal, you know?

Today was one of the roughest I've had in a while...  well... so in a month or two, I guess.



Something's been on my mind all week.  I meant to blog about it sooner, but . . . lethargy, procrastination, and legitimate business often prevent me from getting my thoughts down into this ether when they manifest.

Most thoughts wear themselves out and dissipate before the next time I sit down to type, and so many of the times I jot a mental sticky, a "Oh, I should blog this", many of those times are utterly forgotten, lost to the sirens of the ephemera.  Mental stickies are not as effective as actual stickies.

But this "oh, I should blog this" is still hanging on the cluttered bulletin board of my conciousness.  In fact, it stands ut from the rest, and I keep revisiting the thought each day, mulling it over some more, dissecting it more, playing with it like a cat with its dead thing.

 I saw this platitudinous thing somewhere in the wild blue yonder (the interwebs) last weekend:

And I thought: Hmm.

And then I thought:  Shut the fuck up.
And then I thought: Yeah, maybe if there were no bills, no responsibilities, no risk, and no regrets!
And then I thought:  The internet pisses me the fuck off.
And then I went and did something else.

But later I thought:  Well, what the fuck do I do while I procratsinate?

Video games?  sometimes.
Write?  Not so much anymore.
Masturbate?  Meh.  Not with any great panache.  Not a moneymaker there.
So... then... well... I happened to be procratinating when I found that little gem in the bowels of tumblr (I hate it when my red head art-porn sites have pithy posts...).

So what do I (and most of the western world nowadays) do when I am actively procratsinating?  I internet.

That's right.  I verb it.  I internet the fuck out of hours and hours of my life.

Failblog.  Facebook.  Blogspot.  Hulu.  Pandora.  Amazon.  Wikepedia.  Link after link, page after page, whim after whim after facy after impulse.

I internet.

Can one internet for a living?  I imagine lots of my generation has discovered how to do just that.  They're cleverer than I.

But when I'm at work this mental sticky seems to loom larger and larger.  When I struggle to keep pace with the real educators.  When I am pulling out my hair over the enormous responsibility that I never really wanted and don't believ I'll ever be equal to.

I wonder: what SHOULD I be doing while I procrastinate, and there fore doing instead of teaching for the rest of my life?

No answers have revealed themselves.  But a feeling of anxiousness fills me whenever I ruminate upon the niggling, stupid, nothing of an internet kind of thing to fucking say.  What a fucking post card it is.  The worst kind of platitude or aphorism or whatever the hell it might qualify as.

And yet it looms.

And I feel... unfulfilled.  And I feel a wanderlust.  And a fierce urgency to find out.

But stickies, by nature, aren't the proper medium for details, plans, or roadmaps.

Just imperatives.