A-Typical male's journal.

I had to. I had some frustrations and two stories clamoring at me to write them down. I couldn't write anything else until I'd at least started on them. I'll talk about the stories later, they are both mid-stream at this point, but will be going up on my xoom site, when I get them done. So, at least, you'll get to see them.

Part of my frustration was sexual. I usually don't write about this, but I'm not going to describe anything, so I figure it's fair. I don't know why I was frustrated and randy, but I was. I mean, I have a healthy sexual life, thankyouverymuch. That frustration expelled itself in bad poetry (no you'll never see that!) and I'm sure it's in the stories I'm writing. And in an email I sent to Azura.

That frustration is still there, a bit, but then that's probably healthy.

The other frustration I can't put a word to. I can however tell you how it feels. I sat at my cubicle here at work, browsing other people's web pages. I was marvelling at the things they were doing, wishing that I had done them. It wasn't so much a jealousy on my part, as a feeling of impotence and incompetence that I could never be that great. Then a pall seemed to fall over me, making me wonder what i was doing. Where does all my time go. Where do my creative energies go? Why does it sometimes feel like everything I create is just a shadow of someone else's work.

I'd call it a regret that I hadn't created, but regret has been beuaurcatized to meaninglessness. Some faceless, emotionless suit constantly regretting to inform me of such and such. Maybe despair is a better word. My drive to create feels sometimes like desperation, perhaps it makes sense for the realization of lost time to be despair.

Because it's the one thing you never get back: time. Use it or lose it. On the bus this morning, I realized I was going to die. It came to me as an epiphany that one day, it would all be over. I wouldn't even exist enough to regret not having done something.

I told myself, "You just have to make it mean something. Live your life the way you want to live it. Leave your mark upon the world, and then go on. Perhaps Azura is right, and it's not all over when you die, perhaps not. We can't know, so we have to live like there is no more, and do the best we can."

I feel sometimes, as though I'm about to reach a crisis. One where I may have to choose between certain income and time to create. It's been building for a long time, and I'm still afraid of the choice. But, deep in my heart, I know I'm going to step into that abyss one day. Perhaps even one day soon.

Generic Joe's A Typical Male