Sunday, August 13, 2006

sunday before monday

It was another one of those type of weekends. I would love to suggest it came with as much humour and quiet dignity as a Garrison Keillor opus, but it was just me and the people I know. We just did the usual weekend things and talked about not being at work over the weekend. This is one of the nothing places in my mind like spacing out, but having a conversation during it. I can’t say anything came of it, or that I learned anything. I can say I looked on wistfully at others who went out and did things. My bartender came into the bar today with a text book. It was latin, and I could not make head or tail of it. I think mostly this came of intending to spend this weekend writing, entering contests and preparing relevant documents. None of that happened, and now I’m writing for the sake of saying I wrote something in the last week. This is who I am today. Not even as much as a failure, because to fail you must first attempt to do something. I am wasteful and monotonous and perhaps over-zealous at planning what to achieve in my spare time. What must I be really than just a slightly bigger contribution than nothing at all?

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