November 22, 2003
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Waiting
It is nearly 3:00 and I am still sitting in the Ugly Chair. This is bad.
I don’t really want to go outside. It looks cold. I had half a mind to spend today rambling around the city like in the good ol’ days, but then again, there is an apparent dearth of things left to explore here. I am bored. There is nothing to do on the weekend.
I need stuff to look at. With buttons that you can push. So more things happen.
His nibs the young architect suggested that I need a “project.” I have discussed this issue quite often with myself, and frankly, I decided that I don’t feel like being creative. Whether it be a drawing or a new means of conquering the universe at hand, I don’t want to concentrate myself on anything. I just want to walk around and look at stuff. Yet I berate myself for not being productive in anyway. Why do I have to have something to show for myself every day, to justify my existence? Project-shmoject.
So I’m sitting here, still, writing. This is not a project. I don’t have to have an intention for it. It just happens, and it is what it is. I like that.
Hm. Deep.
Maybe I am just hanging around waiting for him to get home, which is totally lame and stupid and pathetic, because once upon a time I recall adamantly declaring that you can’t expect anyone to be your Be-All and End-All and have them fulfill everything you need and long for. That is a Bad Thing. But here I am, sitting in the ugly green chair, hanging out, wishing i were a little more self-sufficient.
Traditionally, this is the point at which I freak out and run away, or go hide somewhere in some rainy night with my headphones on, covering miles and miles of cityscape on my own.
Or sit around baring my soul to a computer.
When i was five, my first best friend was this looming monolith CPU called Thundr at the company my father worked for. I would pick out letters on the keyboard and T would respond by printing out primitive letter-pixel pictures of unicorns and dogs and turtles. I guess since then I’ve naturally taken to a digital format for putting my stuff out there. Hence my kickass Photoshop skills, my near-addiction to my broadband, and this wacky online journal. Mad props to Thundr, whose lovely circuits have long since passed on to silicon heaven. Sniffle.
Ok, i definitely need to go outside.
