Just what the collapse might be, well that's open to disinterpretation.
Eye wood like two make up and reed sum things butt eye have a hoard thyme even tho my words are knot spelled incorrect. Ah the joy of the written word and those windy windy roads upon which we wind our minds and bend the time to try and fit those loathsome rhymes and reason for the ages dark and bleak with humble corpses bent and broken knees upon which we tread all while following a malcontent thread. The robber baron laid bare his chest the knife drawn back his throat it pressed but being human one could not be as ruthless as he and laid waste to their own despair.
I love words. I don't love them like I love my wife, that would just be weird. I love them like a drug. I think that's the best way to describe it. I like morphine, but that's subjective since I've only ever had it when I've been in extreme pain. I'm not really into recreational drug use, thankfully (personal opinion) and so I'll probably never know if I like it because it kills the pain or because of something else. But I like words like a drug because they are a drug for me. When I write something like what I have above it gives me a sort of feeling of euphoria and elation that I have felt many times before as I coasted down the steep side of a snow covered hill strapped to a thin board, careened wantonly down a mountain side on a bike with nothing but a small styrofoam helmet strapped to my head, or sat at the top of a rocky outcrop and looked down at what would surely be my doom if I slipped and my gear malfunctioned (side note: at the top of a 30 foot climb my harness, which was double-checked, all cinches doubled back, etc., popped open and the person on belay was too busy talking with her friend to notice anything had gone wrong; that's some scary stuff, but still a rush). An E.R. doctor called me an adrenaline junky when i was there with a broken wrist from snowboarding. She might have been right. But doing stupid stunts like that aren't the only way for me to get my fix.
Words, writing, reading, eating, beating, manipulating, pummeling, cajoling, caterwauling, and any other ludicrously luscious lip smacking basilect your heart desires. Solving a physics or math problem in all their heinous, hair pulling, gut wrenching, face smacking, wall banging, infuriating glory and madness. Then there's always my preferred drug of choice, my wonderfully whimsically wizard of a wife whose beauty is unparalleled, her brilliant brain and wisdom are renowned and stands far afield from any that would feebly attempt to compare.
So my quandary at the moment is this: what the hell do I want to do with my life???!!! Other than lounge about all day in sandals and shorts doing whatever pops into my head. "There can only be one!!"
Sure, I'm 33 and have had plenty of time to figure this out. Lots of people my age have careers, successes, excesses, and all that. But does that mean I have to as well? Someone is probably going to say, "Yes, yes you should." To them I say...well...I think you can guess I will digress into the vulgar and let them know I can also work on cars when the occasion is needed.
I enjoy writing. I've enjoyed it for a very long time. That's what happens when you get past 30 years old, you start to get old and your metabolism starts to shut down (although, new studies have shown that part of the reason people are becoming obese has to do with hormones that are artificially pumping into our food supply. Yes, a free market regulates itself. Hooray for science!!! Screw you Rand Paul and all you other pseudo libertarians that haven't bothered to educate yourself on the science behind how to make the most profit. It's called game theory and says the best way for you to profit the most is to make sure everyone profits the most. It's not opinion, it's math, it's fact, and when done right, it actually works. This would include paying a fair (i.e., livable) wage to your workers, protecting the environment, making sure your product is safe and well built, etc. That my friends is libertarianism, not everything deregulated. Turn off the radio, TV, internet news and those other talking heads and read a book sometime, it's amazing what you'll learn). I'm writing three (science) papers right now and I've made sure to put my own spin on them and little gems for those that care to pay attention. But man, if creating a well written science article isn't one of the hardest most uncreative things I've ever done, I don't know what is. It's not that the ideas and work that were done before hand to provide the basis for the paper weren't creative and a wonderful outlet (sometimes) for those creative juices. It's just that once I sit down and start to bang out the actual paper it's like this demon in my mind takes over and suddenly everything is very rigid and liturgical. There seems to be little room for the sanguine flourishes of the pen that can dominate excellent pieces of literature (that excludes almost all of the new york times best sellers, ever. Sorry, an 8th grade reading level, or lower, doesn't allow for the acrobatics, whimsies and general flexibility needed for these excursions by the talented penman who has honed her craft and wields the pen like the mighty proverbial sword, in a nonphallic way, of course) and make them such a joy to read. But does it really have to be this way, you may ask? Only if you want to publish your work in a respected journal. Who needs that? Pretty much anyone that wants to keep their job at a research university, which is where I hope to end up eventually.
So the question I've been asking myself is this: do I want to be a scientist that writes about his work, or do I want to be a scientist that writes about the work of others and will allow for those extra flourishes and augmentations of the pen that otherwise might not be possible for publishing in science journals? I love the science, the math, the programming, the computer science and they all thrill and excite me and it makes my brain sad to think I might stop working on things of that sort.
Pushing boundaries has always been something I've done, even when I haven't tried or meant to, and it rarely turns out well in the short term. Do I stick with one of the things I enjoy and love while trying to poke and prod the larger community in which I reside to at least start to accept a bit more creativity, without going to excess, in the work I publish? Or do I opt for the slightly more glamorous, some might say, side of trying to write about science with a bit more creative freedom with my words? Both fields are laden with extremely talented people (one might say foes) that can do a much better job at one, the other, or both than I. Do I attempt to slay the dragon? Return to the castle and defeat the evil king? Or simply return to my hut and make do with what I have?
I've never been much of one for settling, but that doesn't mean I have any clue about what I want to do either.
"CURSE YOU SNACKS!!!!"
