O.k. So I've eaten and I think it may be possible for me to concentrate for more than a nanosecond. Though I'm pretty sure I now have proof that Macdonald's melts your brain, I am going to do my best to explain myself.
Basically, I want attention.
Well, not too much attention...it's not as if I want my friends or family members reading this. After all, I plan on talking about them.
Like the rest of the blog-happy masses, I just want to offer my stories. A little piece of me, speeding along with the rest on this virtual super-highway. I just want to offer my perspective, no matter how kaleidoscoped it may be.
I've felt a strange pull of late to do SOMETHING. Basically I work as a go-fer girl Friday and my literary dreams have been crushed under the weight the banality of this J.O.B brings. But I know I have to do SOMETHING. No matter if my fear of failure barely succeeds in rendering me as deaf and dumb as my fear of success. No matter if I have to hide my name and creep around virtual corners like a thief in the night. No matter if my grey matter requires jumper cables to get it going.
On what I imagine to be a sunny Sunday the 20th of February, my favorite writer shot himself in the head with a rifle in Woody Creek, Colorado.
"There was no point in fighting -- on our side or theirs," he wrote. "We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark -- the place where the wave finally broke and rolled back."
Hunter S. Thompson was talking about post 1960's 'Merica. But today I'm taking his words to mean something for me, in my life. Thing is, I haven't found the right wave yet.
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