At this distinct moment in time, powered by donuts, coffee, and copious amounts of to-read literature, all I really want to do is a moment-by-moment, perfect, immaculate real-life recreation of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I would obviously play the part of Cameron. I just need, khakis, the shirt, and loafers. I already have the suspenders and swagger. I also need to fill all the other characters, but I have enough people in my life who have attained a sufficiently high level of awesome that could more than suffice.
Keeping aware is hard. There are approximately 700,000 things happening this very second, if not more. How in the world can I keep track of them? I can’t. I can fess up to that right now. So there. Done.
I have this ideal image of a machine, a brilliant mechanism of spectacular technical capabilities. Taking in and putting out clear, clean, precise information in an easy, efficient manner. Little bits of knowledge on a crystal-fragment series of conveyor belts, never being misplaced or forgotten for a second.
Sometimes I just want to get these clear, wonderful objects out of my head and onto the page, but I know they will never be the same. Great as they are at helping me experience the world, my fingers are not very good at communicating. Nor is my voice. Everything tries, and everything struggles. It’s like these little bits of light that bounce around inside my head, orbiting around the various gravity centers of my brain, all searching for meaning and purpose.