Winter marches on. I go through my daily routine, eat,
sleep, wake, work, etc, with some reading or rp or writing
thrown in.
Somewhere there is something else I should be doing, but
damned if I know what it is. I have this sinking feeling I never
will.
Despite how melodramatic that sounds, I'm not unhappy in my
life. It could have turned out much better, oh yes. But it's no
better and no worse than countless other millions of middle class
...or ok, lower middle class Americans.
Ok, make that maybe a little better in some respects. I have means
of escaping from the daily rut, with a book or rp or by writing and
creating a story.
Sometimes the whole idea just overwhelms me..imagination! Whoa,
dude! What a concept!
Whoa! Sixties Flashback! Cowabunga!
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