Tiresome sameness.

I have written of doldrums before - that ho-hum dreary existence that seems to the stuff that is the heavy sponge of life. Why are we, that oft-said nobliest of creatures, so imbued with the potential for greatness and a fire of desire, ambition and a wont to be of some account while we are alive upon this beautiful Earth, so bedraggled and burdened with that which quenches the spirit? Boredom. Routine. Mediocrity. Worse yet - to be at a mirthless job that, were I keener of senses, would foreswear that it sucks the very life-essence from me. A job whereupon I should do very well to keep it until I am too old, by simply keeping my mouth zipped and my mind unburdened by thought and care. An automaton, albeit an organised one, would do well and, God forbid, be happy. I think that Gord my yet regret to have decided to take me on, instead of keeping Larissa. I am too careless with my thought and worse-still, my tongue. It wags and whinges - of no real account, really. My mind accept that Gord would have been happier if he had someone more malleable. I do not extend this line of reasoning that Larissa is neccessarily of that sort either - but without doubt, being Canadian, is still willing to be nice. I think I've grown tired of the little petty games that are played so often as to remind me of a smoky room and the incessant sound of laughter, and chink of poker chips.

What a waste is this wonderful mind - hampered and grave as it may be sometimes. I believe there to be some gift there - some tiny measure of why I am here but for the want of an outlet. Yet it is wasted in the work that I do - and my spirit wonders fretfully, occasionally shaking the bars of its gaol - this body; in anger and frustration. The seething, brooding being that lives within makes me wonders what all this existence is for if not for greatness. Why should so much energy, and let's say it - money, be spent in fruitless adventure? It would have been better if ... or would it. I have touched some lives - and many others have touched mine. I am grateful for all these experiences, but they settle me not and the fire within screams with anguish as the fuel runs out. My mind is ever increasingly upon the number of my days. I know that men are most given to inspiring greatness or producing greatness in the latter half of their lives - I just want to make sure that I am not in the wrong place at the wrong time and fail to do my bit.

Then again, let's not cock it up when you are given the chance to do something if you really apply yourself and work hard and work smart.

aut inveniam viam aut faciam - I hope.