What am I?

I guess that's the question which races through my mind often enough that I wonder what my time on Earth is for almost constantly. I can more easily answer the things I am not often, but knowing what you are is a brute force concept. I think I am a slacker. It's something I enjoy. I've never really been too attached to my work, and I don't imagine that will change drastically, but there are of course ways of looking at it that I can imagine.

I sit a lot at work. That's a plus on the slacker role. I basically can use the internet during work too, although I try and keep it to mildly related things or things that will keep me sane while I'm waiting between calls.

Writing is also something I often turn to for solace. There's something reassuring about knowing that I can explore the depths of my mind just by writing, no matter how whacky it is, it's just words on a page. Nostalgia and regressing have been the name of the game lately as I cling onto my already established notes of sanity. Birthday parties, Christmas, sports. There are so many things which I actually already love and discovering them again has been a joy. The same with music as it is in a way a mirror of my own love in the world.

It's amazing how much of me is actually very reserved and conservative. I have tried to go outside that bubble and only found confusion. Chaos is chaos really and rules are rules. One chaos does not necessarily equal another chaos though, and there are so many ways that logic have helped me.

I'm not sure if I'll ever be a professional writer. I don't really know what kind of writer I am anyway. It seems that the only thing that really keeps my interest is writing about myself, so maybe that's what will happen.

In the mean time, I'm sure the luxuries of comfort exploration will do something for me. I might get a TV. Maybe I'll start knitting. Maybe I'll just play video games in the down time I get sick of writing about myself. Money would be nice. I guess I'll have to think about that too. I'd love to love my job but not be consumed by it.

The paths of being human are immense, but I just can't help the feeling that I'm missing something now. Maybe somebody, and that will always be. I want to get closer to my family before it's too late. I want to be back in Iowa all the time. Homesickness just never seems to end. Maybe the best way to study home, however, is from afar.

Maybe I'll be into history, who knows. The minutia which occupy my mind might go on and on now. I hope they do actually.