Most of the time I am able to keep myself preoccupied with a combination of random hobbies, such as rewriting archie comics, tailoring a leather jacket and of course conditioning my body for break dancing, but I still get this overwhelming urge that I am still not doing anything cool with my life. And by cool I guess I mean something productive I will be able to look back on with a feeling of accomplishment. No I don't have the complete inertia that I have seen in many people, who are content to hang out and indulge in whatever their addiction happens to be.
Paradoxically, I end up reading about people who have done some really interesting things despite the fact that their life seems many times more pathetic or bizzarre than mine, such as getting mixed up with people who think they are harnessing the souls of video game characters (http://www.demon-sushi.com/warning/mee.html), globe trotting fashion obsessed cross dressing homosexuals (see: Bryan Boy), and these kinds of stories, which happen to all be on the internet because noone can stop me from browsing this particular venue. What they seemingly accomplish in the tidal wave of humanity's existance is quite small, or may even be small once I add up everything I've made (I've dabbled in painting, music and other styles of art, but never seem to go far past 1 or 2 pieces before I lose interest) over the course of my life, but it seems to me like something is still missing.
I've studied a lot of Biology, and one common theme in evolution comes from generalists vs specialists. Specialists do well, better than generalists in fact, when the resource they happen to use is in abundance, wheras generalists have higher survivability overall since they are not reliant on any one thing.
Maybe my goal in writing this entry is that, by having no predetermined topic in my head, I was hoping to see what would fall out, and if it was useful. Lets just call me a scientist and this a failed experiement. Next time I won't try to write without a topic.
This might just be the stupidest, whiniest piece of tripe I have written to date, and it sickens me. More to come.
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