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neurological dryer lint

dirty deeds... and the dunderchief

 

hands like secrets

i am not saddened by the following epiphanies, garnered in the car today while driving home and listening to anberlin's dismantle, repair:

i think it'd be awesome to be a musician, in a band or writing solo, or maybe creating beats or something, but i never will. i can't sing, and i can barely play guitar. i'm not committed enough to be a songwriter, and i don't have the life experiences to make them interesting.

i would love to write - either short stories, full-on novels, or articles. but i never will. what passes for creativity is really just rehashed material from my favorite books. i can appreciate the sunset out my window - pen a few interesting sentences about how it paints the rooftops a peaceful orange - but i can't stretch it far enough to make it meaningful.

i've had the idea of doing politics, thinking that maybe a geek that wants to be like Jesus can positively impact his country and fellow citizens. but it'll never happen. i can't raise money, i don't know enough about everything a politician should - the environment, war, commerce, science, law - and i'm far too impatient.

i think, though, when i look at where i am, how good things are, that i will be content for the rest of my days to love God and my neighbor like myself, to love my wife and my family and friends, tinker with computers, listen to music, watch movies, and have fun. deal?

i need to make sure my kids learn this, too. not too early - maybe when they're closing in on 30, they'll pick this up on their own. dreams are great - but when things settle, get really good, you should appreciate it, stop dancing with your foolish, selfishly-bred ideas for a while.

 

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