Uniquely Yourself.

Lots of thoughts going on in my head this weekend, and obviously none have made it out to these electronic pages, mostly because I don't have internet at home.  This provided me a net increase in efficiency doing other things, mostly writing and then, yesterday, spending about five hours staring at a spreadsheet for work that even now lurks below this page.  Which is to say that, while internet is a nice convenience, it sure does distract, despite the best intentions.  I did manage to sync up a new mp3 player a bit with some music, so now have Joni Mitchell to accompany me at work.

Anyway, no real time right now.  Here's what I wanted to mention.  Folks who have the courage to be uniquely themselves, I think, have more satisfying lives, or are more honest about it, and even more importantly, have interactions with others that aren't full of unncessary claustrophobia or social panic, and eventually find their own voice--even if, that voice isn't unique or exceptional.  I say that because I'm reading Raymond Chandler's "The Long Goodbye" right now, and think he is uniquely himself in so many ways, and sure, he can't help but drag along a host of stereotypes and cliche.  That's okay.  The point of life isn't so much to find purity or religion.  It is to be okay with yourself, take a breath, and not take everything so seriously all the time, if at all possible.  After all, soon we'll all be dead anyway.

And here I have a two tea bag cup of tea that's almost black.  I don't have coffee.  I will abstain, after two days of indulgence.  What's the point?  I don't have to have one.  I can just do what I like for now.  In this limited scope.  (Imagine the contrary, wherein I couldn't pick my breakfast beverage of choice!).  Which is to say, I don't have to justify to myself my own decisions as if I was a different person but still within the same skin.  I will not respond to the little voice inside that's tugging on my shirt right now, trying to argue something inchoately, trying to find a way to help me skate along a lake of doubt that's no more frozen and solid than the Hudson right now.