23rd of April, 2015
"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing."--that beautiful bard, Shakespeare.
Until I begin my career, I live only for improving myself now. Prayer, exercise in doses of push-ups and sit-ups, practicing self-discipline, and now, again, reading and writing. I think that I do not do enough of either if I plan to succeed in getting some enlightenment out to those who do not have voices or believe in their voice. It is not a mission; it is what I was born for: expression.
Right now I am in Chico, with a great friend, and I am looking for a job where I can learn more about other peoples stories as well. If not, it just has to be a job. I have to go back to school. If that is what it takes to be accredited, acknowledged, accepted--so be it.
And readers, as always, take care.