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I was watching Wil Wheaton on the Screen Savers this weekend. It was a rerun of an episode last week, and he was talking about his blog and how he just tells stories on it. I started thinking how great it would be to write more, and more eloquently on my blog, but I find that most of the time my stories aren’t that interesting, or that my days do not really produce stories. I’m not politically or sociologically minded, so I can’t really do observational anecdotes either. I guess I’m just not enough of an intellectual to really make this journal worth reading. Well, at least not in the mass community that is. I’ve got 40 people that list me as their friend, which means there’s a possible 40 people, most close personal friends, that are reading this at any given time. I’d like to think that I could write something that had a bit of a wider appeal, but aside from branching out into fiction, which I’m not that good at, personally, I don’t really see what it’s going to be.

Wil’s lived a pretty special life and has made the best of it, whereas I’ve led a pretty average life, and stayed just on the up side of normality through most of it. I’m not bad off, in the grand scheme of things. I’ve married a wonderful woman whom I love to no end. We have our problems, but if I have to give up adventure for love with speedbumps, I’ll take love. I have an awesome house in a town that I think is great and only getting better. Sure, there are things I’d love to be doing to the house that we don’t have the money for, but its still the perfect house for us. There’s not a day that passes that I walk through the rooms and halls of that house and don’t feel happy and proud that it’s ours, that we are in the process of owning it, that it is our domain to do with as we please. I have (now) five animals with whom I share this personal space. All of which have their own unique personalities and quirks. They are all memorable and special in their own way and I wouldn’t give up any of them for a second, even though lots of people have tried to convince us to do so. I have a job that, while monotonus, stressful, and occasionally nearly unbearable, immerses me in an incredible, creative, artistic environment, where I feel very much at home. I have friends who work close with me and while a bit more money could make some of my dreams and desires come true, I’ve never gone hungry. In fact, I’ve gained weight, so I must be eating well. Sure, I’d like more money, I’d like more free time, I’d like more luxury, but I’m not living a bad life in the long run. Maybe it’s just not sparkly enough to be put into prose.

I think I will try to be more observational, I’ll try to be more thoughtful, I’ll try to be more insightful as I walk the walls of work and home, as I walk the roads of Denton. I will try to find the poetry and prose in the life I already have. There’s not telling what’s out there, waiting to be seen and remembered.

2 replies on “”

It’s good to just stop and look around sometimes… I’ve developed an appreciation for stillness. I used to get incredibly worked up if I had to wait in line somewhere or sat behind someone in traffic. Now, I just try and observe the people around me and wonder what they’re thinking/feeling… it’s helped me to be more patient.

I’m not saying I’m impatient. Far from it (unless someone is expecting me somewhere, or my trip is time sensitive, then I get impatient as hell), but I just need to learn to find the actual, proseworthy experiences in each day.

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