The habit [of indulging in uninvited expression of opinions] creates enemies and places in their hands dangerous weapons by which they may do great injury to the one who indulges in it.

As many of my friends know, I’ve been doing a lot of reading over the last several years. And a few of them know I’ve done a bit of writing as well.

Yet, as I’ve lamented before, I mostly write about nothing. I’m not an influencer. I may be a headcase. I tend to wax emo over lost loves. And lovelies.

And it’s all unsolicited opinions. Opinions that may, or may not have much basis in reality. Note, I said reality and not fact. The more enlightened I get, the more I realize even facts are subjective. And these “facts” are the devil’s tools.

No adult human being ever loses the right to freedom of thought, but most humans lose the benefits of this privilege either by neglect or because it has been taken away from them by their parents or religious instructors before the age of understanding.

My latest reading, frankly, scared the hell out of me. Figuratively, of course. I’m still convinced that’s where I am heading.

It has also spotlighted just how critical finding a definiteness of purpose is. It’s no wonder that I tend to flounder as much as I do. I set less-than-lofty goals, then celebrate when I hit them. Yet, there’s still a world out there. A world of wealth. Of power. Of adventure. Of women.

Certain things just happen when you make no plans
And love can really tear you up and it can break you down
Everything you think you know baby
Is wrong

Or is there? Hill also pointed out why I cannot connect with any of them. Yes, I like these girls. But yes, they’re also bad for me. Especially her.

Damn. The more I learn, the less I know.

And I can’t stop thinking about her.

If I could I would
I’d change everything
Cause I can’t forget you though you don’t believe me
Now I can’t walk back
I can’t leave behind
Where does it go all the light that we had?

Anyway, I think this is an ideal opportunity to write less.

Well, maybe not write less, but blog less. Hardly anyone finds this blog, and even fewer read it. I haven’t invited anyone to read it in years.

Yet, it is still out there. A testament to a glimmer of neediness I possess.

A penlight in a field of stars, begging for attention.

And my journal sits—neglected. And I fail to commit to invitations. Even those that I know will be good for me. Perhaps, because I feel unworthy.

Perhaps.

Have some fun! Yes, sleep when you feel like it, not when you think you should. Eat food that is bad for you—at least once in a while. Have conversations with people whose clothes are not color coordinated. Make love in a hammock! Life is the ultimate experience, and you have to live it to write about it.

So, it’s time to take another detour. To have some fun. To play with new people. Make new friends. Bed new lovers.

If the thrill is gone, then it’s time to take it back.

To find my thrill. Then, perhaps I can return to this space. When I have something to say. Or when I become an influencer.

What i'm listening to:

It’s All Over But the Crying
Garbage
Bleed Like Me