Time. One of the many things known to drive human beings insane. The very existence of it can boggle the mind if considered too closely. If you meditate on time, be wary, you may never wake up again. Your mind just may spin out of control into the ether to join all the billions of others who have floated out of control and never returned. It’s something I’ve mentioned before that intrigues me. Considering how young we are as a species and how far we’ve come, what does the future hold for us? Barring some catastrophic event that wipes us out totally, how will we evolve over the next million–or even billion–years?
But lately my thoughts on time have been a little more concentrated. As in: I need more of it right now. And I know, I’m not telling anyone anything, so I won’t. I’ll just gripe about my personal plight right now. I have so many projects going and not enough fingers or brains to work them all. I of course have my fiction career to consider, which is maintained through many avenues including this blog, a few Ning communities that I rarely do anything with, a Wetpaint wiki that I have yet to complete writing, and which involves all the necessary planning and submitting and submitting and submitting. And some more submitting. Which I haven’t been doing nearly enough lately.
I also have the [Re]Evolver project which must be written by me. Because no one else has volunteered to do it for me, basically. Seriously, if you’d like to write articles and see them published and get a byline and all that, let me know, I’ve got a job for you.
So I’m basically writing around 20k words per day. And I work a full-time job. And I’m still not getting it done. So if you happen to see my brain–it’s a battered and bruised, weak-looking and ill little thing–please send it back to me. It said it was going out to find the home for battered brains, and I told it to go on, get lost, I don’t need you any more. And then I realized I’d made a mistake. Hopefully nothing’s decided to eat it. I bet a dog would just love a good bite of brain. Or a zombie. If you see any zombies tell them to stay the hell away from my brain. Especially if I’ve recovered it by that time and it’s back in my skull where it belongs.
Time in a bottle
Time. One of the many things known to drive human beings insane. The very existence of it can boggle the mind if considered too closely. If you meditate on time, be wary, you may never wake up again. Your mind just may spin out of control into the ether to join all the billions of others who have floated out of control and never returned. It’s something I’ve mentioned before that intrigues me. Considering how young we are as a species and how far we’ve come, what does the future hold for us? Barring some catastrophic event that wipes us out totally, how will we evolve over the next million–or even billion–years?
But lately my thoughts on time have been a little more concentrated. As in: I need more of it right now. And I know, I’m not telling anyone anything, so I won’t. I’ll just gripe about my personal plight right now. I have so many projects going and not enough fingers or brains to work them all. I of course have my fiction career to consider, which is maintained through many avenues including this blog, a few Ning communities that I rarely do anything with, a Wetpaint wiki that I have yet to complete writing, and which involves all the necessary planning and submitting and submitting and submitting. And some more submitting. Which I haven’t been doing nearly enough lately.
I also have the [Re]Evolver project which must be written by me. Because no one else has volunteered to do it for me, basically. Seriously, if you’d like to write articles and see them published and get a byline and all that, let me know, I’ve got a job for you.
So I’m basically writing around 20k words per day. And I work a full-time job. And I’m still not getting it done. So if you happen to see my brain–it’s a battered and bruised, weak-looking and ill little thing–please send it back to me. It said it was going out to find the home for battered brains, and I told it to go on, get lost, I don’t need you any more. And then I realized I’d made a mistake. Hopefully nothing’s decided to eat it. I bet a dog would just love a good bite of brain. Or a zombie. If you see any zombies tell them to stay the hell away from my brain. Especially if I’ve recovered it by that time and it’s back in my skull where it belongs.
Oh hell. Now I’m just rambling…
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