11.06.2001 - 6:16 p.m.

Today I have been thinking about wishes. About all of the things people tell themselves they want, then never bother chasing down. Like losing a jeans size or two, writing that novel, or getting that job that pays what you're worth. Like finally going on that big road trip.

I guess it must be that the things we wish are the things that would be nice, in a perfect world, but that aren't quite worth the effort or the pain or the risk. The diet is too much stress per belt hole. The road trip is too much money that won't be around later, when it may or may not be needed.

I cannot count the number of times I have started something, only to get bored or distracted or discouraged into leaving it half-done; I am tired of the way each failure piles higher just beyond the corners of my vision.

It must be that I do not want these things. Surely if I did, I would have them by now. Because if it's not that, then I have to believe I have the backbone of a beached jellyfish. I'd like to think I rate at least a small mammal.

I think wishing is one of the crueler things I do to my life.

-stonebridge

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