A journal entry. #1

"Something about really doing something with your life, I think."  Fuck, the thought was so good, it was inspiring! It's why i'm writing these words.  Can i still grasp it if I type faster?  Can i type fast enough to catch it?  That whisp of understanding, of ah-ha-ness, so fleeting...

Has my writing degraded?

Am I not the writer I was?  Should I use bigger, fancier words?  Make myself sound smarter, more sophisticated?  No.  DEFINITELY not.  Ok, phew!  Glad I got that out of the way.

So what the fuck was it?  That initial slice of inspiration?  Examining my thoughts as of recent, I'd say it had to do with making something of my life.

Oh yeah, that's what it is.  I'm mildly stuck.  I want to ask this gal out on a date.  I judge her as pretty successful though, and I judge myself as not as successful.  I immediately go into the future.  If I ask her out on a date, I better be able to afford it.  Which then leads me down this rabbit hole of money.  And self worth, and value.  I think about asking to see if anyone is hiring or looking for some help, I think about what they'll ask next, what skills do you have?  I used to be an EMT.  I used to be a medical software consultant.  I used to be a lot of things.  I am a bodyworker!  Ick.  I am a human.  Ah.

I watched my fingers at they began to shift towards Command+t the hotkey for new tab to check reddit or feacebook.  (Yes, that's how they say it in ireland.)  I caught myself.  I can't continue down this sordid path into this whole human existence thing.  Which deep down I find myself continually more committed to than anything else.  I mean, I seem to be pretty successful in most things I decide to do, for the most part.

So what happened?  I ran into my past.  I ran into my old partner from when I worked as a 911 EMT.  I was wearing a very silly outfit making my way to wash all my dirty clothes and I ran into him.  I actually thought about not stopping to say hello because I felt so lame.  What would I tell him?  I don't have a job, I'm not living anywhere, not really working on anything...Granted, that's not true, but the shit i'm working on is so fucking weird that I felt it better to just not even get into.

I'm actually becoming a little more comfortable sleeping in my suburban.  I think it helps that i've met a few other humans like me.  That decided to turn their car into a mobile sleeping device.  That sense of community is powerful.  I felt so much more safe and relaxed.

Oh yeah, back to my actual post.  I thought about my time as an EMT, and my old partner's current time as a paramedic for the Fire Department.  He does basically the same thing as we used to do minus a more advanced scope, but still responding to bullshit calls as he puts it.  And I think, is that what life is?  Is that making something of yourself?  Putting yourself in a position where you get to hang out and wait to respond to calls of distress?

Which I guess comes back to that old saying, life is what you make of it.