peak:
Was in the station when company was dispatched to a fire and tagged along.


valley:
I was funky... but now I'm not. Welcome to my roller coaster.

noise:
Delbert McClinton's new CD (Room to Breathe) and some Travis Tritt.

food:
Ham Lunchable.


thoughts:
I'm glad to have an entry written, but it's come at the sacrifice of much needed sleep.


365.25:
1 Oct. 2001
No entry.


730.50:
1 Oct. 2000
I want to write, but...

tuesday
10.01.02

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Quote du jour:
"Of course we all have our limits, but how can you possibly find your boundaries unless you explore as far and as wide as you possibly can? I would rather fail in an attempt at something new and uncharted than safely succeed in a repeat of something I have done." -- A. E. Hotchner


I walked out of the store, got in the truck and started writing...


"I want to get on a plane and fly somewhere.

I don't know where, really. Maybe some place I've been before... or some place I've never dreamed of going. Or maybe just some place that isn't Here.

Here is perfect for me sometimes -- we've covered that already. The thing is... Here is not There and There is always more exciting, right?

There is more exciting, actually, because trips to There are only temporary. They can be perfect because they are really only moments. But There becomes the epitome of perfect, anyway... And when we want perfect all of the time, we feel like we have to leave Here and go There to get it.

It's no way to live a life really... but it gives you enough peaks in life to be able to withstand the vallies."

I was writing directly from brain to hand. Hopefully, it shows. I'm not sure where I was headed with those words. Even then, I didn't know what direction to take it... I stopped as abruptly as I began.


It was a variety of things that led me to jot my thoughts down.

First, there were the sights and smells of Barnes & Noble. For some reason, I always want to write after I leave that place. I think it's because there are always so many different people from so many different walks of life in there. You can't help but wonder about the stories behind those folks.

Also, there's this funk at work. I jinxed myself last week by writing about perfect moments. The very next morning, I got some crummy news at work. It's nothing major. I guess "moderately crappy" would be the best way to describe it. It's just that some things are being done in a way that's less than ideal.

Firefighting is more than just a job for me. It's my career and it's a big part of my life. Because of that... And because I spend up to 24 hours at work at a time, it's hard to keep a work funk from being a home funk, too. At least, that's the problem I've had lately.

Also, there is someone I work with that I think I'm growing really fond of... And that's sort of spooky for me. We have been on different shifts for the last week and I haven't had my dose of her. I contribute some of my funk to symptoms of withdrawal. I worry about the idea of me missing having her around... those sort of thoughts always lead to more thoughts and introspection and the exploration of feelings and, well, you know... trouble.

I wrote those words down because I attach special significance to the time in my life when I was able to travel quite a bit at the expense of others. For about two years, every trip I took was important in shaping me. I saw new things. I felt new feelings.

New... That's what it really boils down to. I'm not bored in life... but having a new job isn't enough for me right now. Okay, so maybe that's not true... The new job is still presenting enough challenges. But I'm a new junkie. I don't want things to be stagnant... and that feeling increases roughly 11 bazillion percent whenever my mood gets funky.

Needless to say, I was feeling funky earlier this evening. That's since changed. I happened to stop by the station and a call for a structure fire came in... I ended up making the run. The fire wasn't much, so little harm was done and the experience did wonders to brighten my day.

Of course, a little road trip wouldn't hurt, though.


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