I just read an article that expresses my life almost perfectly. As I read this essay I noticed how much the writer has played for the first 40 years of his life (okay, playing the violin is work but basically he's been playing around, and loving it, and that's okay with me). I've come to the conclusion that all my activities are expensive hobbies: making art, hanging out at the beach, contemplating the universe, and hiking. None of them contribute to my bottom line. I do a lot a playing—basically expressing myself. When I can't express myself I feel horribly constricted. Yet I come across as a calm, mild-mannered, objective person most of the time, especially with strangers or those who only know me casually. I strongly identify with the writer's urge to push the Big Red Button and get the hell out of here and into some high-powered, lucrative, intellectually demanding job. Then I could really get into my hobbies in a big way with totally great expensive toys (whenever I wasn’t working). There's just one problem: I hate high stress and tight deadlines. What I really long for is to be paid to be me. But isn't that everyone's dream? Is it fair that I should be the one to do that? But then again isn't that what movie actors (thespians) get paid for? I also still suffer from a 1950's induced dream of being supported in the style to which I would like to be accustomed. It's hard to shake. I suppose I'm just over thinking.
Current Fads
Music. personal iMix Can't Let Go
Movie. Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith 2005
Activity. herding cats
Gadget. Palm Zire 31
News Source. BBC News - Americas
Books. Isle of Dogs - Patricia Cornwell; The Elements of Style - Strunk & White; Beauty: The New Basics - Rona Berg; The Forensic Casebook: The Science of Crime Scene Investigation - Ngaire E. Genge; 2005 Guide to Literary Agents - Editors of Writer's Market
(Yes, I really am reading them all right now—I'm a book addict. What can I say?)
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