Why bother?
Unfortunately, I have realized that what I like doing and what I'm good at is "thinking." I say unfortunately because it is also true that without living, acting, doing, being, etc., thinking at least for me becomes an empty paralysis of the self and the will, of hopes, dreams, etc., that are the fuel for life and thus for thinking which must be about life. Thinking can not go beyond the bounds of what is known, and what is known derives only from life as lived.
There you go, a recipe for failure.
Sterile, repetitive mental masturbation.
Maybe I'll write about the beauty of flowers and the tragic disintegration that sets in without exception in every family (oh, flower's) life.
My family. Very important. Love that is bounded, that is predicated on norms developed only Goddess knows how, when and where.
I don't even have anything to say, except I know that I love to sing and dance and write and paint and draw, while the other two in my immediate family do not, (or at least don't emphasize any of them in their daily lives.)
My mother says my brother doesn't care that I can't work, but I still feel guilt and pressure to be productive.
What difference does this make?
I am hoping for the best.
Let's support Prop.? in California legalizing marijuana.
The most passionate communication I have is: Be!
After you read this, get a glass of sparkling juice/wine and, listening to music, let your mind and feelings flow to a place, down a stream, merrily, merrily, because life is but a dream.
Anger. Mothers deal saving.
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