It's a good thing when the writing starts flowing; it gets annoying when the flood gates open at 1 AM and the current won't stop. I'm having one of those nights. Must have been the fudge.
I don't recall what I said when I was young (preteen) and someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. For that matter, I don't ever recall being asked, though I'm sure someone must have.
When I was eleven or so, I got my first exposure to computers. I mean personal computers -- the kind I was allowed to touch -- not the fancy Telex machine Mom used to use at work, or the ones the people back in the purchasing department used.
We had half a dozen Commodore 64s in what was loosely called the 'computer lab' at the tiny private school I attended for sixth grade. We played a game that taught us typing, and we were allowed to play Snooper Troopers (a precursor to the Carmen Sandiego games?) if we'd finished our lessons early. I was hooked. After that, whenever someone would pop the question, my answer was "computers."
The summer I was thirteen, I spent a month in Hawaii with my Uncle's family, and his TRS-80. I was bored (he was a paper pusher in the navy, and his wife didn't drive), so he showed me his manuals for BASIC programming, and let me play with his computer when I felt like messing with it. I learned to hate a cassette drive, but I also learned a little bit more about computers.
Later, I had a little more time with another C64 when Dad had a small business partnership with some friends. Access on alternate weekends, whenever nobody else needed it (which was most of the time). Alas, no Snooper Troopers (I really loved that game, and I've never seen it since the sixth grade), but whoever had supplied it had brought a bunch of old floppies that their son had, and there were tons of games from a monthly subscription sort of thing, that I spent many an hour playing. I loved those weekends at my dad's.
I never had my own computer until after high school, but I still do love 'em, and I'm pretty handy with them. I can do basic HTML, I can word process just about anything you plop down in front of me, make a spreadsheet, or set up a database, as long as it's not too complex. I set up and ran my own bulletin board system for about a year, I can design graphics, and I even do a little programming. Did I mention I'm getting pretty good at working with the computer's guts, too? I can do that. But it hasn't really gotten me anywhere.
Okay, so I keep a journal, and people like you sometimes come and read it. Sometimes, they even come back for more! So I guess my writing skills are fairly good too, and writing and computers mix pretty well. But I don't see my journal putting bread on the table, or money in the bank account.
What's that you say? Why do I care, when I'm going to get married to a great guy who has a great earning potential, and now an official, great-paying job when he graduates? (No Jev, that's not how I think of you, but I'm sure some people might be tempted to say it)
I care because I want to be able to look back at some point in my life and say, "Wow, look what I've accomplished!" and be proud.
Admittedly, I am proud of my journal, and I enjoy doing it; especially when I can put out entries like I've been writing tonight, and not just the humdrum grocery list of what I did today. But is this all I'm capable of?
I want to do so much more! I want to leave my mark on this world before I go. I want someone to look back, 100 years from now, and know that I existed. I want to matter!
Because right now, in the great big scheme of things, I'm just a number and a name in a file. A speck of dust. I hate being small.
But... am I measuring myself on the wrong scale? I'm a pretty big part of Jev's life, and I hope I make him happier for being a part of it. And I have an e-mail friend who has come to be a significant person in my life, and says that I am the same in hers. And another friend I chat with online, whom I have a lot in common with... she and I help each other through, sometimes. And my cats think I have good entertainment value, and that I'm a means to that food of the feline gods: canned cat food. And my mom, for some strange reason, seems to feel a lot less alone when I'm around, even though we barely interat.
I do have an impact on a few lives. I hope I make them better for having that influence. I just want to make more lives better, until -- ultimately -- everyone reaches max gross load on happiness. That's my goal; now how the #!@? do I get there?
Okay, can I go to sleep now, please?
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