I believe I have used those words to many times. Imagine if I could just actually try something, just once, instead of a continuance or a bottom pile of the in box.
I have to accept that I can not do it next time. I keep trying, withe optomism of a Monday, but in the end, I don’t “actually” start. The furthest I ever came to taking the first step… any step.. was my first try. I almost did, and it was the only time in my life, I used a lawyer.
I choose to ignore the past, at least enough to think only at the speed of your fingers. If enough shit is filling my NOW, it’ll be forever before I’m back on top of the wave, and not in undercurrent, or the canoe.
“The higher you rise in this life, the more decisons you have to make. Your boss might not look busy, but he is the one that makes the choices and decides which way to fork in the end.
A president need not do much more, than say Yes or No, with a signature.
I can’t even perform the lowest level decisons, so I am stuck in minimum wage, where decisons are made for me. I can’t even be my own boss at the fast food level.
It is impossible…
If I believe it, it is so.
The trick is to change the belief.
You are the currator of the library of you.
The secret of the stories.
You are the one that takes the story, and sends it to the library insie your body. You have the power of being the editor and keeper of the stories. All of them.
You have the power to write your own universe, as you save it to the library.
That’s too much responsability for me.
Here’s why. Life is about choices. We have built our society on the ideals that we, as humans are free to choose your future.
However, I also refer to every single moment of your existance.
The wave of this thought, tired, and the wave broke.
My surfer runs back inside and rides another thought outward.
BAM. A tired wave hit at 11:01 day 3.
end of part 1
If all else fails, save the story, and make it a good one.
Since I am somewhat concerned with my WH Syndrome that I may be deemed crazy and my genious was imaginary.
If your story will be hard to believe and become a part of our future, why not tell it as a fiction, exagurated
Guilt popup. Lights on, loud keyboard. She knows.
end of part 1