If · God · is · in · the · Details...then · He · isn't · Detail-Oriented

Who knew that three months could pass, and I wouldn't even know it? I didn't even think to check how long I had remained absent from this little ole space of mine. But, indeed, the dates don't lie.

So, in the passing moments since my last post, I've finished school, moved continents, and now wallow in joblessness. Welcome to my world. It's been fantastic to learn how ill qualified you are for the real world. I exist in the land of over-educated and under-qualified. It's Awesome. But, I have caught up on some much needed American television time and, wouldn't you know it, movies. Yes, it took the return to the United States to get my ass into the cinema again.

Anyways, besides the surreal nature of transferring your life from a metropolis of millions to a small college town in upstate new york, things aren't bad. Poor brother has had to make room for a semi-permanent housemate, but at least I cook and clean. Wouldn't you know it, I'm good domestic help. And, I've had time to try some recipes, experiment with food, and in general, make wegman's my new second home. How mes love my grocery stores. Yeah, I am that lame. But, I make a hell of a stuff leg of lamb.

I'll see if I find some inspiration to make more frequent appearances here. It's been hard, I must admit, to find any foder for amusement. I mean, why blog about the TV I watch? You can get that anywhere. And, as life events are rare in a world that involves little more than hanging out with my brother's friends, I am at a loss for much in terms of story-telling. So, until I find something else, I'll leave you all to talk amongst yourselves.

"What happens when you learn you can't use what you've learned?"

This is just awesome....

http://iacs5.ucsd.edu/~pbang/dance_monkeys.htm

So deep, on so many levels....

For some reason unbeknownst to me, the British are desparately seeking a sports hero - a George Best (a huge soccer, sorry football, player in the the 60s, I think) for the new century. Their hopes were great, as the World Cup began, for the rise of new icon. There were non-stop documentaries of their last World Cup win...some how many decades ago? There were daily updates on the status of a certain player's foot. And there were little doubts. The British were on the road to the final, their soccer (football) team the unstoppable force of skill and savvy.

On that fateful day when dreams were dashed, a smaller athletic war was being waged, on the green grassy fields of a truly british tradition. As Mr. Murray swung away, making Mr. Roddick, that other Andy, seem a bit worn for wear, british sports commentators found another hope, perhaps a different hero for their hopes and dreams. The commentary was gushing, a verbal blowjob of effusive joy and admiration. And, within seconds after the official announcement that, indeed, the British would fail to reach World Cup glory, it was announced that Mr. Murray now had the hopes of a nation resting on his shoulders. I kid you not, that last sentence was word for word. No pressure.

But, two days later, Mr. Murray would also fall, and with him, the hopes of a sportsman to transcend their island roots to dominate the world. And, I have to admit it, this yankee living in this foreign land, found just a moment's pleasure in watching....

I've hit a wall. A big fucking wall.

I'm paralyzed. I can't move. I can't think. I can't imagine a way around, over or through. Instead, I stand, looking. Watching the wall grow, expand. It towers over me now. And as I sink into its shadow, I find myself unable to do anything.

I hate this feeling. More so, I hate the fact that I am out of time. And the longer I stand, the less chance I have of finding a solution. Wait long enough and the wall will topple over, crushing me under it. And while I can see it, I do nothing. And I don't know why.

Truly Fantastic.....

go to http://eepybird.com/dcm1.html

So, much to my chagrin, I have been unable to find enough fodder to keep three blogs going. What is this world coming to? Not that there was ever much to say here, in this place of personal disaster. But, eh, it's been an entertaining ride for me so far.

I am finding it harder and harder to imagine that awaits me. Maybe, because, in the confusion of the years that have just passed, I find myself knowing less and less about what I want, who I am. Is this the quarter-life crisis I am to supposedly fear? Is this the existential inquiry I was supposed to face? Seems like a big bother, really.

Time gathers steam as you get older, and suddenly there doesn't seem to be enough, or that it has just sped up to an unreasonable pace. That is what I find, now, as I sit here, fearing the future and what I won't accomplish. Or what I might. Maybe inspiration will come, but if not, what will substitute?

Flying to the states and back, all within a week, has left my brain in a tailspin, thinking itself to be in a place it is not. And that's what I am beginning to think about my life in general. I am living in a place that I shouldn't be, as a person that I am not. I feel suddenly uncomfortable in my skin, when I look into a mirror. I see a stranger, not myself, and I am not sure quite how that happened, only that it has.

If anything else, perhaps this year in London has be a delay for the final confrontation, the final realization that I've taken myself far away from where I wanted to be. The dogged pursuit of a profession that I know I'll never really love. I can hope that this delay works differently. That I'll soon understand why I haven't given up, yet. But a delay is just that,a delay. Sooner or later, the future arrives. And with it, decisions you wished you didn't have to make.

Lifted from my sister....

http://drawahouse.com/houses/show.asp?houseID=348985&houseHash=c390e4db7c33564ce085b7e990ff3674

http://drawahouse.com/houses/2006/4/28/348985_t.gif

So, it's been obvious that my updates here have been, well, well-spaced. Chalk it up to laziness, or perhaps the fact that, being a personal blog, it is an accurate reflection of its writer. Either way, not much going on equals not much in blogging fun here.

I did go back over this little space of mine, a few weeks back, to see what I had been cataloguing. Cringe-worthy on several...maybe most...occasions. I guess it goes with the territory, no? Or maybe, my territory.

While I share a lot with certain people, it tends to be the more negative aspects of my life. Mainly because I want to get them off my chest - you know, speak about them, and soon you rid yourself of them. And I think this space became an extension of that. I write here most often when I am upset or annoyed or angry. Not really when I am excited, inspired, entralled. (well, on the random occasion when I see a good concert.)

Problem is, when you go back, what do you have to remember? The stuff you'd rather forget? And the stuff you'd wish to relive? Probably only a faded memory, without enough substance to really return to you with clarity.

Shame, really. To let so much good disappear, only to keep so much bad. Maybe I can change that a bit...we'll see. I do find myself able to write much more in a state of lamentation. But, maybe it's a worthy goal, to document things that might, potentially, be worth reliving.

That is, of course, if on-line journals don't crash and burn. Then, well, it's all just ashes and dust.

"It's all a state of mind...so mind what state your in."