Or not to be?
It's not such a bad life. I've got a bit of direction, which is the flailing nozzle of the firehose which I've been trying to grasp for so long. Will I be able to turn it off? No, but I might be able to ride the snake.
I want a raise, I want an apartment (to own, not rent, dammit), and I want to go back to school. The raise I might be able to get in a month or two, the apartment by the end of August (barring some exotic financial expense) and the degree hopefully within another year. I don't need people telling me "I'll get it sooner or later" or "when I'm ready for it", but it makes me grind my teeth less when they do say that lately.
I should probably return to writing on a fairly regular basis to see if I've learned any new tricks. And I'm not talking about marquee tags. I'm fairly heartened to find a collection of short-short stories called From the Ashes, as I've been taken lately with the suggestion made by the Reverend Dave to write a collection of immensely brief stories. I think I'll call it A.D.D., though I haven't decided what the letters will stand for. Something clever.
I can't think of the word "pleasant" without thinking of Donald Pleasance. As Blofeld, natch, stroking his kitty.
There is joy in life, but like a lemon, you can't just put it in a glass and drink it. You've got to learn to juice it, with no help from Ron Popeil. Juice it good.
Talk Talk's in my head. How often do you commit yourself: It's my life. You meaning me. Not you.
Of course, there's also Joy Division: "Can't rest on your laurels now; not when you've got none. You'll find yourself in the gutter, right back where you came from." I wonder if anyone has any idea how hard I'm working. I don't, and I'm smart enough to know that my salary + commission is not an effective measure of that. If it was, I'd have some very disappointed bosses.
Why am I still typing? You've stopped reading this ages ago, haven't you?