2002-08-29 - 9:29 p.m.

There is it, the wish.

I see it faintly on my hands, on the tip of my tongue, and in the pupils of my eyes.

The wish -- it is there.

Sail around the land, like a fly in the wind, to travel or is it running?

To walk around in streets, the streets to be strange and unfamiliar and me, a stranger on them.

To live without a schedule of classes or work, not a step toward any career or any degree or any home ownership.

Just to take a step, to take a step, to take a step without the distinction of it being forward or it being backward or it being in any direction at all. To take a step for stepping's sake.

Financial preparation and planning is so dull, so bloodless and bland and mundane. Its a plop of blob to poke at it each day. And somehow, it is supposed to be satisfying me.

I need the patrons of Picasso. I need the favors of the "elite" in society. I need connections to people in power and influence. I need an agitator's motivation and friends to remind me, just what I could do, just what I might do.

Instead of sitting here, waiting for bedtime, where I wake up, shuffle up, and work a job with tiny bit better than minumum wage for forty hours. And be free for a weekend where I simply prepare to work another forty more hours.

And for what? To eventually rot in my very own apartment or sit through forty hours of classes sometime in the off future?

Oh yes, I am very optimistic, Mr. Frodo.

petrichor
http://petrichor.diaryland.com

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