Thursday, or: The Addict

This beautiful bike has become my antidrug. Maybe more appropriately, it's become my drug of choice. I get all jacked up on my way to school, mashing up the one hill between me and class, and then I sit through my classes, thinking about nothing else except the next time I can get my fix. I can't feel anything anymore unless it's the burn in my quads as I sprint in and out of traffic, flipping the bird or spitting on any cars that cut me off, and cutting them off right back. And of course the simplistic rush as I coast down a hill with no cars in sight, just me, the road and the open air.

p.s. This is the much more tame alternative to an original blog of a sexual nature about my bike.

Current music selection: Does It Offend You, Yeah?

My attention span is shrinking. Its getting tougher and tougher for me to focus on any one thing for a good length of time, which is causing alot of areas of my life to suffer. I've got my fingers crossed that it's a passing ailment, and I'll wake up one day and be able to buckle down and write all the scattered thoughts I have throughout the day and make them make sense. Or that I'll be able to sit down and study for more than an hour at a time (a rare occasion lately). Or that I could be at a job longer than a month and not get bored out of my mind.

It seems depressing to me that people with good work ethic are usually the people who can put up with being bored 8 hours a day, doing a job they have no real interest in. I can't wait until I graduate with my degree and become a registered dietician, so I'll actually care about my work. The quote "do what you love, and you'll never work a day in your life" comes to mind.

Until then am I doomed to toil in monotonous misery, struggling to make ends meet (and right now, they definitely don't)? The words "nose" and "grindstone" come to mind.

At the same time it's pathetic that the worst I can complain of is being bored. Even if my finances aren't looking so bright, I still have a roof over my head and food in the cupboard (although most of it is the roommates). And I have the benefits of modern medicine, I'm getting a great education, I live in one of the most beautiful areas in the world, let alone the state.

As problems go, mine are usually of my own making, and I'm ashamed of it. I let things get to the point where they're hardly manageable anymore (i.e. dirty dishes piling up out of the sink so that I can barely move the faucet to fill it. Letting my laundry get so backed up that it takes a full two days to finish washing and drying it all. Ignoring the fact that my bank account balance is low, and letting an autopay bill overdraft it, costing me alot more.) It's really sad that I realize all of this about myself, but still lack the initiative to break it.

At any rate, I wish my demons didn't look so much like me, and I'm still hoping that one day I'll wake up a changed man and solve all my problems once and for all.

More likely I'll have to work at it for awhile. So here goes nothing.

Wednesday, or: Our lives are nothing more than picture perfect fiction

And really all we can do is do the best we can to become heroes, or at the very least anti-heroes, not expendable characters in our own stories. And how do we do this? By living a life rich with principle, by exploring our interests, discovering our passions, and pursuing them with our utmost existence. To make a life, not a living, and to make connections with people we meet along the way.