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Wednesday, September 28, 2011

It's Been Done

I am having some thoughts about this place. About my place in the world. Writing is a chore now. I do it because I feel that I should, not because I actually enjoy doing it. I write to please others. I write out of habit. Before I used to write because I got something out of it. Yes, that's selfish, but it's the only way I can fo it honestly, damnit. I feel that it is the only way artists can do anything good; if it's secretly selfishly for them and them alone. Think about it. How many #1 hit songs overflow the charts every year that are written/intended for the fans? None. It's always about love, lost or new, and the authors.

This whole "writing for a crowd" was good for me. I could express all that was on my mind, and people really enjoyed reading it. I enjoyed sharing. I enjoyed the sport, the art, of writing. Now I look at my paper on what I need to cover, just to be on top of things.

My life is not that particularly interesting. I will probably never have a movie or a novel made about my life, unless I write the book or I make the movie. I share a life that is identical to every other person in the world. Struggles, a family, life. What have I done that thousands or millions before me haven't already done? Millions after me will do the same things. The same is true with my thoughts. Others will have these same thoughts on the world. There's nothing unique about me.

I would be kidding myself if I said that I thought I had a unique outlook on life, because I have been dealt a bad hand, but I know that I do not. I do not want to become another cookie-cutter ex-addict, ex-escort on the web telling their tale of woe. That was one thing that I thought separated me from the others. I have a better outlook on life, not because I was all those things, but because I survived them and had a better outlook on life before, during and after. There was nor has been many things that would turn me bitter. Not even my health crisis afterwards.

In the end, it's all about being done, isn't it?
I am having some thoughts about this place. About my place in the world. Writing is a chore now. I do it because I feel that I should, not because I actually enjoy doing it. I write to please others. I write out of habit. Before I used to write because I got something out of it. Yes, that's selfish, but it's the only way I can fo it honestly, damnit. I feel that it is the only way artists can do anything good; if it's secretly selfishly for them and them alone. Think about it. How many #1 hit songs overflow the charts every year that are written/intended for the fans? None. It's always about love, lost or new, and the authors.

This whole "writing for a crowd" was good for me. I could express all that was on my mind, and people really enjoyed reading it. I enjoyed sharing. I enjoyed the sport, the art, of writing. Now I look at my paper on what I need to cover, just to be on top of things.

My life is not that particularly interesting. I will probably never have a movie or a novel made about my life, unless I write the book or I make the movie. I share a life that is identical to every other person in the world. Struggles, a family, life. What have I done that thousands or millions before me haven't already done? Millions after me will do the same things. The same is true with my thoughts. Others will have these same thoughts on the world. There's nothing unique about me.

I would be kidding myself if I said that I thought I had a unique outlook on life, because I have been dealt a bad hand, but I know that I do not. I do not want to become another cookie-cutter ex-addict, ex-escort on the web telling their tale of woe. That was one thing that I thought separated me from the others. I have a better outlook on life, not because I was all those things, but because I survived them and had a better outlook on life before, during and after. There was nor has been many things that would turn me bitter. Not even my health crisis afterwards.

In the end, it's all about being done, isn't it?

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Sunday, September 11, 2011

A Decade Later

I was a junior in college when 9/11 happened. I had the day off from studies, and my step-father woke me to herd the family into the bomb shelter he built, in case the country was to be destroyed by terrorists. When I returned to classes, there were TVs all over the school, tuned in to various news sources, should there actually be any war or other emergency. I lost a good friend that day. Someone I had only saw two months prior to the attacks, who had expressed an interest in me, and wanted to make me his wife. I miss him every day. It never gets any easier. I blocked out 9/11 until this past January, when I forced myself to watch videos of the towers crash down. I cried, for the very first time, over 9/11 years after it happened. I have been to the World Trade Towers, both before and after 9/11. Maybe some day I will reflect on those days. But not today. I kept a blog back then, ironically, on Blogspot, and somewhere my entry is floating out there in cyberspace, probably on my neglected, abused and worn out domain. I am going to clean that domain up some day. I don't know when, for sure, but I will get it done. Procrastination is my greatest friend, sometimes. :) I leave you with images from my friend from the 100th floor of one of the towers. He perished where he worked. These images have haunted the web since 2000.
I was a junior in college when 9/11 happened. I had the day off from studies, and my step-father woke me to herd the family into the bomb shelter he built, in case the country was to be destroyed by terrorists. When I returned to classes, there were TVs all over the school, tuned in to various news sources, should there actually be any war or other emergency. I lost a good friend that day. Someone I had only saw two months prior to the attacks, who had expressed an interest in me, and wanted to make me his wife. I miss him every day. It never gets any easier. I blocked out 9/11 until this past January, when I forced myself to watch videos of the towers crash down. I cried, for the very first time, over 9/11 years after it happened. I have been to the World Trade Towers, both before and after 9/11. Maybe some day I will reflect on those days. But not today. I kept a blog back then, ironically, on Blogspot, and somewhere my entry is floating out there in cyberspace, probably on my neglected, abused and worn out domain. I am going to clean that domain up some day. I don't know when, for sure, but I will get it done. Procrastination is my greatest friend, sometimes. :) I leave you with images from my friend from the 100th floor of one of the towers. He perished where he worked. These images have haunted the web since 2000.
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