Friday, December 19, 2008


Another day.

Nothing particularly interesting about today apart from the particularly acute anxiousness created by a Friday. The air is newly cold, and the slight wind chills just enough to remind southern California of its long forgotten season; winter.

Another week.

The only thing particular about this week is the push in the air. Meetings rescheduled. Projects delayed. E-mails unsent. Words unspoken. Eyes glancing clockward involuntarily. Furtively. Everyone is trying to push this week to its close, consciencely or not. Eager to end the purgatory of this week, and begin the celebration of the next.

Another me.

Nothing particular about me. We're supposed to become a different person every day. New experiences, new ideas, new occurrences keep who we are in a state of flux. We may change violently, or imperceptibly. But it feels like I'm the same person I've been for months. I don't feel new anymore. I feel like I'm stuck. The dangerous new ideas of change have been carefully cultivated in my head, and lie ready to spring forth! Yet there they lie. Waiting for a cue that doesn't yet exist. Will I succeed? Will I fail? Does it even matter when the alternative is sameness?

Another opportunity.

Life is particular when we make it particular. Every day, week, and you offers infinite possibilities. Fly to visit far away friends today? Take a week off to go on a deep-sea fishing trip? Take a class in something you've always wanted to learn? Or, perhaps... Count down the hours until the weekend today? Procrastinate this week? Do nothing new with yourself?

Another decision to make.

Be particular.


Fletch said...

I only write like this when I feel particular.

Kent McManigal said...

I usually feel peculiar.