Sometimes I sit down and write these blog entries, or journal entries, and I realize that I am (almost) perpetually in a state of wishing that I was further along than I currently am on various projects and/or life.
What’s the point of that?
Well, I suppose if I am to examine that question seriously…I suppose that one of the reasons I actually get stuff done in any given day is because of that desire to be further along than I am. One could equate that feeling to “drive,” I suppose.
On the other hand, there’s a lot of harm that can come from living in a state of unrest. Where is the sense of accomplishment, the feelings of accomplishment? Where is the *happiness* in such a condition? It isn’t there. I guess that’s mostly what I’m struck with tonight as I sit here, wishing that I was further along on so many things I put my mind to doing.
And recognizing that has relieved me, actually, of any further desire to talk (or write) about it. It all is what it is. The podcast, ladies and gentlemen, will be done in due course.
I think I want to start reading again before bed. I need to GET myself to bed on time, for sure, but I want to start reading again. I miss it. That’s the feeling that’s replaced the anxiousness I can into this entry with. I remember I’m about halfway through The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury. What an odd book. I’m very taken with Bradbury’s style of prose, if not completely taken with the format of the book. Bradbury writes like however he fucking wants to. He’s the opposite of the concise, formatted, efficient writing of, say…Hemmingway. Or at least what Hemmingway espouses is properly lean writing. Bradbury lets his writing meander, and flourish, and take its liberties with run-on sentences and fragments. It’s emboldened me, actually, to take my own liberties with my prose…when the time is right and a point is being made.
‘Twas a long work day today, my friends, and another one looming tomorrow. But, work was DONE, and that is progress.
My eyelids are currently drooping. That means it’s time for sleep. Not a bad thing, perhaps; my fingers were quite verbose on the old keyboard tonight. They should be reigned in, anyway.