Last night, we arrived home from our multi-state holiday tour, and it was our first night back in our own bed. And it brought with it some strange dreams. Evidently, my older sister was getting remarried and I was in charge of the paperwork. why, I don't know. But it seemed that all of my fighting friends were there. In fact, my unit seemed to be in charge of the services. Old Shatterhaze was even there, wearing a diamond again.There were also many people who went to my high school. Even though my sister is four and a half years older than me, there were people both older and younger than me there for some reason. A particular individual whom I never really got along with sat next to me. I asked him politely to go elsewhere and leave me be, but he wouldn't. I got increasingly angry in my appeals, until he finally began sexually harassing me. None of the people around seemed to care, and at this point I left to go find whoever was in charge of the event's security. I wandered for a while and then I awoke.
There was another dream I had, that involved a friend of mine and I in a rivalry over classic toys, and another that involved me wandering around an unknown neighborhood with some people, looking for a music teacher so that he could autograph a series of instruments. But that is all I really remember from last night.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Motivation
Today is not a good day for being productive. I've awoken, but my head is not at all clear. It is filled with the remnants of last night's sleeping pill, and the general haze and lethargy of the morning. In addition, I feel the motivation sapping cold of apathy and depression growing closer.
I had dreams last night. Many dreams. I remember a few, and I shall write of them. A weird combination of Seth MacFarlane characters hijacking Santa Claus's sleigh was one, but perhaps the least interesting.
I remember climbing a mountain. A very high mountain. Toting with me supplies to build some sort of base. It was a sort of launch base for NASA, as I recall. There were others climbing as well, but it seemed to me that they were not so important, and they were going up and down as they pleased. I arrived at the top, and my old friend Jimmy was there already, scouting out the area and finding the best place to set up. We left the supplies and took a helicopter down to report (he knew how to fly it, and that was apparently how he got there. Why I had to climb up with the supplies still baffles me.) Regardless, we were quite disappointed by the reception. It was hostile and discouraging. It changed after that, but I don't remember the rest particularly well.
But this is not a post about dreams. No, it's a post about motivation. In that dream, I was motivated to do those things, despite discouraging circumstance.I must be motivated to write and to make videos despite discouraging circumstance. But I do not feel like I am. I feel like I have no reason to continue doing so. In the dream the prospect of flying helicopters or going up in a rocket was motivation enough, but as for writing, it's difficult and frustrating at times. Making videos is fun, but editing and uploading them takes so much time that I'd rather spend doing other things, because I get so little time to do things I like to do on my own. I know I need to do it. But finding the motivation for it is incredibly difficult. As it is, I am only writing this because I know I must write something today. And this maybe all I manage for the day. I don't even know if I will feel bad for that. So far, this has been a semi-productive writing session, in terms of volume. And in terms of my honest feelings as well. Whether it is entertaining or not is another matter, but honestly, I'm not sure any of my hits are actual people reading it, so maybe I don't need to be entertaining. Whatever, I'll see what I can do.
I had dreams last night. Many dreams. I remember a few, and I shall write of them. A weird combination of Seth MacFarlane characters hijacking Santa Claus's sleigh was one, but perhaps the least interesting.
I remember climbing a mountain. A very high mountain. Toting with me supplies to build some sort of base. It was a sort of launch base for NASA, as I recall. There were others climbing as well, but it seemed to me that they were not so important, and they were going up and down as they pleased. I arrived at the top, and my old friend Jimmy was there already, scouting out the area and finding the best place to set up. We left the supplies and took a helicopter down to report (he knew how to fly it, and that was apparently how he got there. Why I had to climb up with the supplies still baffles me.) Regardless, we were quite disappointed by the reception. It was hostile and discouraging. It changed after that, but I don't remember the rest particularly well.
But this is not a post about dreams. No, it's a post about motivation. In that dream, I was motivated to do those things, despite discouraging circumstance.I must be motivated to write and to make videos despite discouraging circumstance. But I do not feel like I am. I feel like I have no reason to continue doing so. In the dream the prospect of flying helicopters or going up in a rocket was motivation enough, but as for writing, it's difficult and frustrating at times. Making videos is fun, but editing and uploading them takes so much time that I'd rather spend doing other things, because I get so little time to do things I like to do on my own. I know I need to do it. But finding the motivation for it is incredibly difficult. As it is, I am only writing this because I know I must write something today. And this maybe all I manage for the day. I don't even know if I will feel bad for that. So far, this has been a semi-productive writing session, in terms of volume. And in terms of my honest feelings as well. Whether it is entertaining or not is another matter, but honestly, I'm not sure any of my hits are actual people reading it, so maybe I don't need to be entertaining. Whatever, I'll see what I can do.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Rites of Passage
The day was rapidly approaching that he would cross the threshold into adulthood. The elders warned him to stay away from the old stone path, but all his friends had done it the year before, but he could not bring himself to do it yet. They teased him and taunted him.
It was on the heels of a particularly sharp barb that he decided to do it, that very night. He and his friends all gathered in a field near the path. It was a crisp autumn night, and the moon shone brightly.
The group slowly made their way to the edge of the path. There it stood before them. His spirit shrunk back from the gravity of the ritual, but he stood firm. He took one step, then another unto the path. His friends were cheering for him and he grew more confident.
Just as he was about to reach the middle a bright light struck him and a terrible sound froze him in his tracks. His friends called to him to run, but he could not move. As it was bearing down upon him he tried to go back, but it was too late. He flew into the air from the impact, and his lifeless body landed by the side of the path, in a pool of blood. His friends scattered.
The next morning a game warden came down the road in a battered old pick up truck. Seeing the body, he lifted it into the bed of the truck. "One less to worry about," he said as he made a mark on a tally sheet. As he drove on, he thought of his son. They were going to go deer hunting next weekend, and it would be his son's first time.
It was on the heels of a particularly sharp barb that he decided to do it, that very night. He and his friends all gathered in a field near the path. It was a crisp autumn night, and the moon shone brightly.
The group slowly made their way to the edge of the path. There it stood before them. His spirit shrunk back from the gravity of the ritual, but he stood firm. He took one step, then another unto the path. His friends were cheering for him and he grew more confident.
Just as he was about to reach the middle a bright light struck him and a terrible sound froze him in his tracks. His friends called to him to run, but he could not move. As it was bearing down upon him he tried to go back, but it was too late. He flew into the air from the impact, and his lifeless body landed by the side of the path, in a pool of blood. His friends scattered.
The next morning a game warden came down the road in a battered old pick up truck. Seeing the body, he lifted it into the bed of the truck. "One less to worry about," he said as he made a mark on a tally sheet. As he drove on, he thought of his son. They were going to go deer hunting next weekend, and it would be his son's first time.
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