A poem I wrote while serving duty during my NSF days.
I would like to profess that I keep an offline journal. I would call it a diary, save for the fact that diary sounds "girly", and some of my guy friends might give me stick for that.
There's a case for striving to be better than you presently are, in any way possible. But how much is good enough? Is there an end to betterment? And if there is, what is it? If there isn't an end to it, why do we seek being better? Could be that the dynanism of it, the constant chaging of one's goal, creates the illusion of some sort of attainment? An illusion that carries on untill we die?
Two minute to go, and they start to run like crazy... and I mean like crazy!
How much of life is to be lived automatically, in a semi-conscious state of mind, and how much of it is to be lived with a carpe diem mentality?
Run your life away -- a poem.
A dissertation on letter writing, and a discussion of hand-written letters vs. e-mail.
Waiting for lunch, my friend and I discussed religion with a man.