I'm at work right now. I'm consulting for a company for 4 months on a part-time basis as I continue to search for an answer to the always allusive question - what do I want to do with my life? I've been thinking recently that after this gig is up I may look into working with a non-profit that will send me to some third-world country for a while. I think that is something I would like to do once in my life. Or I could scale it down and just go on some sort of missionary trip for a month or so. The "chicken" route...we'll see. I'm going to keep pushing myself to continue writing though. Even if I feel a diminishing confidence in ever reaching a level that would allow writing to be my career, it still acts as a great stress-breaker for me.
Here is a weird concern I have that has to do with writing: I worry that when I die and those closest to me find my journals they'll think less of me in some way. After all, even I think I'm borderline insane. Okay, maybe not medically speaking but seriously sometimes I question this! Part of me wishes there was a way for all my journals to spontaneously explode into deep-blue flames at the moment of my death, so no one will be able to read them. Then another part of me feels that people should know the real me...even if it's after I'm gone. Is that weird? That I don't care if it's after I'm gone? I mean, I feel like those closest to me would rather find out now, don't you think? But I'm not sure how to go about that. I mean if my disposition is part of the "real" me than so is my shyness to present it to the world, right? Or am I just justifying this?
Anyhow, I'm not getting paid to blog so I'd better go. Later.
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