September 12, 1998

This is the time of my life?

Do you think a duck could carry a chicken up to the second-story of a farmhouse? I feel it could, if the chicken grabbed onto the duck's tail with its beak and flapped on the way up. Of course, the trick to all this is getting the duck and chicken to work together, for poultry are rather racist. They do live together in peace as according to the Great Poultry Accords of 1942, but animosity has always existed among them.

This is what I would consider the highlight of my evening. I spent the time with friends, all the while enjoying myself but also thinking. I have dreams; I have goals. Yet, I waste this time wondering about the flight logistics of barnyard fowl.

This is the time of my life… I should be doing now all that I dreamed of in the past. I have stories I want to write, questions to answer and ponder (in that order), but I don't. The fault lies not in the stars, but in me.

It does not help having friends whose work I admire. Some are writing scripts for films of stories that I know burn in me, but I don't set free. Others are crafting jokes that I laugh so hard I cry. Friends are finding jobs, making relationships, mastering their field, while I just sit back and watch them.

I am jealous of them. I want to be like them, to do the great things they do, but the question is time. This is the time of my life, but it is short. I do not dare risk the time to follow my uncertain dreams at the loss of missing them and their masterpieces at work. Watching others excel is source of joy in life, but I dread my never shouting the very same call, "Excelsior!!"

So, I talk about chicken and ducks, avoiding the issue. To the people I call friends, I also hold a bitterness. I don't see anyway out, so I joke, "It will be dark soon," in a vain attempt to disguise my fear, my greed, and my jealousy.