Dreams are fragile, delicate things. Like spiderwebs, they can be shattered to pieces by a simple swipe of the hand or the utterance of the wrong string of words. You can't always see them, but if you get close enough you can always feel them. And also like spiderwebs, dreams tend to cling. The good ones do anyway. Always there, gnawing at the brain stem, never fully letting go; even after someone or something has torn them apart.
If my 30 years have taught me anything, it's that I'm not cut out for the workaday world. I just can't do it. I've tried. I've been a greens keeper, a cook, a car hop, and sever, and pizza driver, a telemarketer, a bookseller, even a fucking door to door salesman. Some jobs have been more tolerable than others, but I still can't commit to a life of clock punching, and I refuse to let my chosen mode of money acquisition define me as a person. The next time I'm accosted with the ridiculous question "What do you do?" I'll reply matter-of-factly, "I live my life..."
So here it is, my solution, the web that has clung to me for as long as I can remember; to wander these lands of ours without plan or purpose. To collect experience, not things...To expand my mind and my horizons. It's a vision quest, a walkabout, a pilgrimage, an odyssey, a solitary sojourn for personal meaning. I don't know how long it will last, and I don't know if anything fruitful will come from it, but that's not the point. The process is the point.
I'll be recoding my travels here, mostly for myself (and my mom will like it). It's called a "blog" in webernets speak, but it's nothing more than a journal, or diary, although I prefer the term "Captain's Log". But call it whatever you want, or ignore it completely, no skin off my ass. It is what it is.
But for my life, I choose to be like the bear, and go over the mountain just to see what I can see.
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