Birthday Blurs
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Today I turn 36.
Now why was that slow and hard to type? The curves of the numbers should have made it easy but it was not. Yesterday, I was mulling over getting old and I remembered the things I promised myself. A house at 35, but at 36 am still renting, stuff like that. Ten years ago, I was feeling as depressed as I was yesterday but without the Gen X angst anymore. (It's still there but it should be called something else at this age.) I do have two wonderful girls, a nine-year-old and a five-year-old, my sunshine and honey. Yesterday I read an article about the experiment with Joshua Bell that jolted me out of the technical stupor I am in and woke the sleeping vein that would push me to feel and not just be there. Pushing my fingers to type something that is not for work but for myself, as an attempt to save my sanity. Actually write for myself. Thus this blog. Things are not as bad as it seems come to think of it.
In the midst of brainstorming for projects, I steal the time to type away.
What do I long for right now?A long hard drink. And a new job.
later that night...
I am drinking beer sitting on the bed with the laptop where the name suggests it should be. My sister just called to greet me for the second time today as she teased me for listening to what she describes as "senti" music. During our talk I realized we are suffering from the same symptoms. She is sick... of her job and is on the lookout for something more of her field. Guess ‘tis the season.
Can’t think of anything that can make me focus long enough to write about. I want to start the story of our neighbors in front of our unit. But I can’t. Can’t focus, can’t concentrate, can’t think. I keep hearing she sells seashells as a phrase in my mind. But it doesn’t seem fit for the story I think I want to write. Hmn.
Today I turn 36.
Now why was that slow and hard to type? The curves of the numbers should have made it easy but it was not. Yesterday, I was mulling over getting old and I remembered the things I promised myself. A house at 35, but at 36 am still renting, stuff like that. Ten years ago, I was feeling as depressed as I was yesterday but without the Gen X angst anymore. (It's still there but it should be called something else at this age.) I do have two wonderful girls, a nine-year-old and a five-year-old, my sunshine and honey. Yesterday I read an article about the experiment with Joshua Bell that jolted me out of the technical stupor I am in and woke the sleeping vein that would push me to feel and not just be there. Pushing my fingers to type something that is not for work but for myself, as an attempt to save my sanity. Actually write for myself. Thus this blog. Things are not as bad as it seems come to think of it.
In the midst of brainstorming for projects, I steal the time to type away.
What do I long for right now?A long hard drink. And a new job.
later that night...
I am drinking beer sitting on the bed with the laptop where the name suggests it should be. My sister just called to greet me for the second time today as she teased me for listening to what she describes as "senti" music. During our talk I realized we are suffering from the same symptoms. She is sick... of her job and is on the lookout for something more of her field. Guess ‘tis the season.
Can’t think of anything that can make me focus long enough to write about. I want to start the story of our neighbors in front of our unit. But I can’t. Can’t focus, can’t concentrate, can’t think. I keep hearing she sells seashells as a phrase in my mind. But it doesn’t seem fit for the story I think I want to write. Hmn.
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