nocturnus

I've opened this "Update and Edit Your Journal" page about 6 times now, each time only to stare at it for about 5 minutes, and then give up, realizing I have nothing interesting to write about. After several concurrent failed attempts, I decided that opening with a paragraph about having nothing to write about, was at the very least, a start.

I've done an awful lot of bitching recently (last two journal entries are only a small inkling), so now's time to quit being a whiney ass and talk about what I'm thankful for. In no particular order, except perhaps the first one.

I'm thankful for:

my family

the moon

the stars

Cattra

relatively good health

EternalKrista

my sense of cynicism (realism)

PullOffMyWings

my job

music

whens420again

Jenna

SGs that respond to comments on their pic sets (thanks Neko)

ShadowSlayer

having a level head when things are shitty

remembering to be thankful for the things that aren't

the promise that accompanies each new day

I'm also thankful for the one musical talent I openly acknowledge I have, and that is the ability to write lyrics.



OK, your goal for this week.

Without trying to be trite or self-righteous about it (because I don't mean to be either...I'm far from fucking perfect), remind yourself or someone that needs it, that no matter how much this life sucks sometimes, it could be worse. It also has been worse for someone, somewhere, who instead of bitching and moaning, took what shit was dealt them, and kept going. SUCK IT UP.

Feel free to tell me that if you think I need it. Sometimes I do.

It's alright to complain and get things off your chest; we all need it sometimes and no one is wrong for doing it. Just keep it in perspective...it makes things easier to deal with.

I hate some of the things this country does and is responsible for, but at the same time I take a quick glance around the globe. I could have been born an aborigine, or live on the arctic tundra of siberia. Those people are happy, by the by, and often happier than I am.

Yet here I sit in a heated building, wearing nice store-bought clothing typing on a keyboard a journal post that might have taken me an hour to write by hand, with a quill and paper by candlelight a mere couple of centuries ago.

I am a hypocrite. I know this already. Allow me to deal with it while you use me to better illustrate to someone else the flaws in being a hypocrite.

I don't really know where this is going, beyond the fact that it just keeps going, so I choose to stop now.

Carpe Vita