Big Ol' Question Mark

I spend about ten minutes thinking about what I want to write before I start, hoping that it won't be awkward and I won't look at it in a few days and have it seem strangely childish. Then, just as I think I've got it, the phone rings (because I'm always procrastinating at work when im blogging) without fail, and my clever scheme is ruined. I think next time I'll try for a meditative blankness and hope that the phone call joggs some subconscious inspiration.

I think I've got a little of Nico's missing quarter life crisis. I've been spoiled by college and post-college excitements. I've had my closest friends at my finger tips and been constantly distracted by personal drama. Now things have settled down, people have moved away, situations have become simpler and more complicated at the same time, and I'm feeling empty... It's strange because I'm proud to feel like I develop in to a more adult and more interesting person each year. Yet somehow there seems to be a strange letdown and a frustratingly unromantic sadness that follows me into the shower each morning. It's hard to analyze what the problem is when all recent decisions seem so appropriate.

I think this is partly due to the silly fact that things have been so good in recent years. Much better than at any time before. I suppose I just expected things to keep soaring up up up! When they plateau it seems like everything's come crashing down.

My impending (hopefully) teaching career seems like a beacon of salvation, though a hugely terrifying one, which is a strange quality for a beacon of salvation to have. I worry, and probably shouldn't because that can only make things worse, that I'm putting too much weight into a career and building it up too high. Fortunately that adjective "hugely terrifying" helps to dilute my blind optimism.

Maybe all I need is some good ol' escapism coupled with a little personal creativity. I got turned onto a fabulous little fantasy adventure which cured my blues entirely for the two days it took me to read it. Of course when it's over and I'm forced to remember that I am, in fact, NOT an important piece in a world saving, millenia old prophecy of bold adventure and really do need to get this paper work done, it does make the monotony that much harder to cope with.

I'm convinced that photography and art in general is the catalyst that will begin the end of my funk. I havn't put any energy into pictures lately. I feel like I haven't had the time, though that's probably not true. However, reading Rice Boy has ignited the desire to write again. I've even been trying to flesh out difficult plot elements while on the toilet! I'm thiiiiis close to actually picking up the pen keyboard again.

Maybe hijacking a scanner would cheer me up...