today, today, today.  whenever I start writing in here, I get rid of the
old file named "today," and start in on a new file.  easier than setting
up the HTML right awawy, I guess, because I can jump into whatever I
wanted to start writing about.  but this practice reveals a simple,
obvious, yet important truth; that every day is today.  
ha ha, there goes dr. profundity again.

for once, I decide I have something to say in here - something worthwhile
- and I end up distracted in triplicate.  first I start writing about
something else, then I start websurfing, then I get caught into a
conversation.  sigh. what was it I was going to say?  I had been reading
over the unfinished work that I started so long ago.  and wishing I could
create something, or be something.  maybe even not write about something.
maybe be the person written about.  but I have no drive nor ambition to do
these things - only the lazy desire to have more.  

there are people who are lacking ambition and happy to be where they are.
ambitionless.  there are people with tons of ambition who are motivated to
better themselves.  ambitious.  
then, there are those who posess the ambition, but are not motivated by
it.  what are we?

I'm recalling what it was I had to say.  I started that story because I
wante dto write, but more, I think, or I hope, because I had something to
say, something inside of me waiting to get out.  that's at least why I
started this journal.  and now, it seems that I have nothing to say
anymore.  nothing screaming to get out.  nothing inside at all?  am I
dying inside?  is that what this is?  has my transplant into the "real
world" killed my persona?  have I poisoned it myslef with psychoactive
drugs?  am I simply smothering it, giving it the oxygent it needs to live,
but not the air it needs to speak?  

or am I just blandly happy, and ok with it?  I don't want any part of my
life, of me, to be bland.  or do I?  do I have the patience for constant
change, for ever-present turmoil?  is it necessary to be at a crossroads
along every step of my travels?  are crises integral to my sanity?  

ah, back to my old self.  worrying that I'm not worrying.  how wonderfully
typical.  I'm even angsting in circles again.  phew.