Incomplete

If I said I felt lost, I'd feel pretty funny. It seems such a melodramatic statement, complete with generalized overtones of despair having no function other than to justify idleness.

But I do. Tsk Tsk to me. And I travel between homes of family and sentiments with not real sanctuary of my own. I see the roads and skies passing around me and I wait for some solid ground, all the while knowing that waiting is a joke and an excuse ultimately revealing nothing but a standstill. Time is pushing me forward like the momentum of the planets revolution and you'd think I'd get the hint. I do in fact. I dare say maybe . . . just maybe that missing gear, that crossed wire, maybe it's been OK this whole time. What if I'm not broken and it's all some backward decision I made somewhere along the way that I'm too scared or too comfortable to re-neigh on?

Yesterday I did this and tomorrow I'll do that and the whole mission will be pushed back another hour to another week and my sadness will linger upon months of regret. But I'm awake during all this. The shame is sharpened with time and it has its own grip on movement.

I got this whole back'n'forth thing going on if you haven't noticed. I have some work I put off for several levels of a video game. This was after a day of listening, which is easy to do, to someone who cares about me and uses the time with me to self-medicate with appropriated wisdom that isn't appreciated elsewhere. I'll call him Coach. He reaffirms his righteousness, gives me confidence and we do this all day. If it weren't for the evidence he provides I'd sign off completely but I think it's working cause I come away terrified. It doesn't quite stop me from living but it makes me aware of how far behind I am. He see's my potential tomorrow, I see bad habits repeating themselves. Hope is great and all but you need a sentiment inside you that sort of works like a point man and sharpshooter combined. Move forward, line it up, pull the trigger and see what happens. It just happens to be that my trigger might take 2 years to pull. I'm guestimating.

We're talking ambition here people. According to my data, thinking is of no use by itself. It's an impotent agent. There is a great benefit in the unknown. Within it lies our greatest moment. And while adventure may imply spontaneity, it takes the strictest discipline to properly explore the potential of the thinking process.

Babble. No spelling error there. It's just what I do. Speculation assassinates progress. This all makes me wonder about drugs.

I like the idea of being an entrepeneur. Along the way I stumble into all this self-psycho-analyzing and I wonder how self-made millionaires never talk about all this. I do this because I'm a common guy with that common dream of being supremely uncommon. I know the general populace is where a lot of people end up and thats it and I don't look down on anyone for choosing a simpler path. If it's good it's good. But I wanna leave something behind, I just don't feel that, as a minority and as a lower middle class citizen, I have the programming for it. I'm scared of the lack of living and ultimately I sabotage myself anyway. I don't know why but I got a clue the other day it might have something to do with the fundamental doubt instigated in me when I attempted to rationalize my father's absence from home as I grew into adolescence. The discomfort and worry and general vulnerability sill linger. I don't think about him that often, these emotions are just residue and yet it's a sticky tar that was never completely washed off.

I don't want to make my dad the point of any argument. I don't think I can count on any resolution if I depended on him to make sense of my inertia for me, or if I depended on him to just help me resolve my dislocation from assurance. I don't want to depend on him even though I should be able to. Despite best intentions, he just wasn't there for me the way I needed. Seeing children grow up without guidance pains me. I don't know if its something I could live with if I had a child accidentally with nothing to give him and then have us forced apart or I winded up being forced to rationalize being separated from him or even worse, found myself distancing the child over emotions of indifference I hide behind some obligatory appreciation for vague concepts of whatever the hell it is stupid young men think about fatherhood. I'd rather sign up for a large term life insurance policy after getting in shape and then pay someone to steal my wallet and blow my brains out so the kid gets the money. At best someone can tell him I was trying to rescue somebody and he can build some awesome romance around it. Even if he hated me for it, he couldn't refuse to believe the act was noble and I'm sure the nest egg would give him the means to pursue his passions and test his ideal on the world.

That's a lot more speculation than I should invest in a blog entry but I don't really know what to do with this yet. Being consistent would still be a ginormous step up for me. Growing is easy when you obviously don't know shit. When you think you know is when you start to fight for inches.