Struggling

I feel like I am falling, drifting into a seemingly endless void.  Like my motivation and desire usually does, it comes in spurts, moments in time that I never want to end.  The creativity and momentum that I had has seemed to drain out of my fingertips with no recharge station to be found.  I need an adventure.  A mental break, something to stimulate my mind, prick at my neurons and convince me that I am, in fact, still alive.  I had a great weekend, and I don't know what is causing this feeling of helplessness, and I suppose I should be used to these emotional surges by now do to my constant shift in birth control due to problems with the previous.  I can't tell what normal feels like any more, not that I would ever be happy with normal.  I just wish I had one day where I could feel content, satisfied, not feeling like something was missing.

My love life is perfect.  My cats add great joy and frustration, but always bring something new to my day.  The food recently has been equisite.  But I still feel like there is something missing.  Maybe it's Star Island, maybe it's nature, but whatever it is, I need to find it.  If I lose my way with writing again, I worry I'll never be able to get it back.

The shallow dream

Gets me every time

The beauty of a dream

Bodes the heart and begs the crime

And here it is

Lost and alone

The shallow dream

Empty promises

and I let it lie

The Mortal Tragedy

I'm not entirely sure if being mortal is a good or a bad thing yet.  Eventually, like vampires, you would probably lose all humanity, witnessing everyone you once knew and loved dying, disappearing, never to be seen again.  I imagine that it will break anyone, make anyone impervious to death, but isn't the fact that we are mortal make life so unbelievably amazing?

The tragedy in life isn't that we are mortal, it isn't that we will eventually die, it is that we only have so much time.  If you want to learn everything you can, explore everything you can.  You could spend your entire life traveling and still never experience what it's like to live somewhere else, you couldn't take in all the culture, get to know every single person.  So we have to pick and choose, and that's the tragedy.  I chose writing, and have continued to do so.  While pursuing this career path, I am at a job that isn't bad, but it isn't the promised land for me.  And even if I do become a successful author, I still will never experience being a zoologist, a researcher, a marine biologist, rehabilitating lions for reintroduction into the wild, working to save the panda population.  The whole other side of my brain, the one that wants to save the world, has gotten thrown to the side while I march forward, pen and paper in hand, probably destroying the environment more with ink and paper usage than helping it.

So here I sit, looking at a photo I took of an orangutan, and the soft reflection of my forehead appearing in the bottom right corner.  I titled it, "Reflection of a Human."  And it really is human.  Eyes looking up at the sky wondering, nose wrinkled while he chews, all the lines going across his face.  I live vicariously through Animal Planet and other television shows all of the lives I could lead.  I realize I am still young, but even if I do end up getting a degree in Environmental Science, I wouldn't know what to do with it.  If anything, I'm probably safer to spend my time volunteering, especially if I can become a published author.  That way, I can learn on the job, pour my money into some non-profit, and continue writing.

It's the mortal tragedy.