Things have returned to normal, except not yet physically.

I received a warm and pleasing welcome from Minardi, who hadn't seen me in days, and who found the scents I returned with to be a real treat. After an hour of greeting, he's decided to lay down on the floor, not in my room, and is sleeping. I think he distrusts me, and I can't blame him.

Everything else is unchanged after a week's recuperation at a friend's home.

I guess it's good to be back where I belong. Sentiment has little place in the 21st Century, I still want more than I get, and sad good byes are countered with more appropriate optimistic remarks concerning pets and returns to normalcy. I would do well to heed such advice.

It's obvious that music plays a large part in my life, but mostly as background.

I'm remembering, right now, an album I listened to endlessly, often drugged but always with feeling. It was Jefferson Starship, an album about how all the cool people would travel to the stars. I don't know if Grace Slick and Paul Kantner knew about Hitchiker, or if it was even out yet.

The line I recall most often has to do with tears. As is said, if you ask a Western man, he'll tell you about salt, carbon, and water, but if you ask an Eastern one he'll talk about pain and sorrow, and the love of a man and a woman.

Different tools, that's all. Each misses the other.

It's still quiet and nearly noon.

I feel spaced and dazed, but it's not at all unpleasant, almost like the feeling after an orgasm, a calm drifting, directionless, and with a glowing pleasure. And, no, I did not just have an orgasm.

I'm feeling full and justified, but still wanting validation. I never get enough of that, and I guess that's what I most want to make my life complete. I'm comfortable when I'm sitting up, or laying down to rest, but reclining to sleep in a bed summons up much rib movement. The pain is muted or non-existant, but I'm still surprised and afraid of rearranging my ribs.

It's as if they adopt to one position when I'm erect and another in repose.

Sleep has been something of a struggle. I wake up often, and I think I want to claim my more familiar position on my side. I can't sleep that way, and feel bad about sleeping on my back, which I know makes me snore. I hate being a guest and snoring, but haven't gotten any complaints yet.

I do wish the accident hadn't happened. My impulse is still to run, to refuse to deal with it, but I'm being led step by step to being a more functional human being. There are times, of course, when I wish to crawl in a hole and pull it all in over me, to not deal with it, but there are people and things to consider and a selfish act like suicide isn't much of an option.

I feel better than I have in days. Not so much physically or mentally, but emotionally. I think I've been on a roller coaster, as they say, and I'm pleased I've survived it and learned from it. I want to give, I want to give a lot, and I hope I'm not frustrated.

The nights are the worst part.

It's quiet, I'm alone, and everything that happens is intensified from the lack of distractions, from competition. My mind cries out for answers, develops questions, invents scenes and resolves them unfavorably. There are a few certainties, but even the cause of their certitude is open for debate. I can only speak for myself, and my thoughts aren't the ones I question.

There's the pain, too. Incidental during the day, at night I can't find a good position for resting. Each move unsettles tentative ribs, shooting me with pain I don't feel during the day. Shallow breaths are taken, are cursed as being wrong. Shallow thoughts accompany them, and are also ridiculed.

I want so much to be whole, to be enjoyed, to be complete.

I'm about 6'1" tall and weigh a little less than two hundred pounds. I guess I'm knda big, but the shadow I cast over other people's lives is huge.

I don't think it's a good shade, either. Nothing to relax in or to enjoy. I bring with me a host of problems, new ones for people to deal with and ones that are particular to me. I make people adapt, and not pleasantly, to make adjustments they hadn't planned on, to modify their behavior to permit me room. I shove aside intentions and replace them with adjustments, made mostly to please and mollify me.

Normal life is disrupted by my presence, ruined and tattered. The people I meet are usually doing fine before I enter their lives, then their hopes and plans have to be modified because of my arrival and actions, and they are left with less than they once had.

I always say I want to be harmless, to go through my life without injuring others, but I fail horribly in that task. People minding their own business, relying on me, find my irresponsibility detrimental to their continued existence. I don't mean to storm through lives, but I do, and I hate the results I make in the good and decent family members and friends I touch.

It is a wonderful life, but my travels through it serve mostly as a example of what to avoid.

I understand that those who are abducted by aliens usually lose about seven minutes of their lives to the process. These minutes are gone forever, sometimes resisiting even the most fervent attacks by pschologists to retrieve them. In exchange for a ride in a spacecraft, these poor people lose a bit of their lives.

Lucky bastards.

I got in a car wreck the other day and figure I lost about four hours. I was driving...I was in a MRI machine, being yelled at for moving. I have no idea what I hit, or who, or anything. All I do know is that I spent a great deal of time running my hands over my face trying to pick out new painful places and scars. Not any easy thing to do with IVs and monitoring equipment.

To cover the highlights, I discovered I was naked, I was wearing a neck brace, I was on a back board, and when I sat up and looked around, I was very dizzy and it felt as if my ribs were detaching themselves from the breastbone.

The doctors say "nothing broken or fractured."

I like it when I'm mistaken, especially if I've been wrong on the downside, underestimating things. It buoys my spirits tremendously to find things are better than I thought, and I don't often have that sensation.

It's been nearly three days since I've smoked a whole cigarette. Yeah, I've weakened and a few puffs here and there, but I can't enjoy it and toss them out immediately. It could be said I haven't really quit, but I'm going through the process and losing the habit. It's been rough on those around me, and I regret putting them through it. I'm hoping by next week at this time, say, that I'll have more of my emotions under control.

I can live with the headaches.

Surprising things can be beautiful and can touch me in ways I'm not prepared for. I think I'll get glee, or relief, and instead get touched deeply on emotional levels I don't anticipate. I like that about the world, nothing is ever as contained as I think, as limited as I sometimes want. Pain includes fear and maybe humiliation, pride carries with it aspects of fulfillment, and simple, natural acts can transcend the entire spectrum of feelings and delight, excite, comfort, and soothe me. I expect a one to one reaction, and sometimes receive a Sears catalogue of wonder when I expect a single item packing slip.

I can be more wrong about people than anything else. I often ascribe to them thoughts I can imagine myself having, but fail to consider the depth and variety others experience. I think I'm good with people, I mostly just project my triggers and reactions onto them, but that cheats everyone. You may not be able to have any internal sensation I don't understand, but I sell you short when I limit you the way I do myself.

I feel as good as I can recall. I like that.

I can build anything having to do with me into drama.

I'm done beating myself up, and am just lying around hurt, not even bothering to lick my wounds. I'm feeling sorry for myself, of course, concentrating on the past instead of embracing the future, and doing everything I can to brand myself as "unique" or "special." I have no patience, and nothing to be patient for.

My life is unwinding now, spilling out like the intestines of a Seppuku practitioneer, in slow motion. I watch it, distanced, without interest, neither caring nor alarmed. I'm not bored by it, nor by anything in it, but what's happening is all stuff outside of my control, and gravity more than intention, decides everything.

I make a difficult patient, I'm sure of it.

I claim to enjoy simplicity, but demand much that is outside normalcy.

I rebuff those who want to give to me, watch that coil spill to the floor at my feet, and work on making it their fault.

I do, so, want things.

I want to cry, want to summon purging tears over my recent losses, but need to be strong and decent and act as adult as expected. Growing up would solve my problems, as would being decent. There's no way I could barf up everything inside me, no matter how much I may want to do that. And, even in that process, instead of wondrous objects of horror I'd find laughably small nuggets, for nothing I obsess about is anything anyone else would even notice.

I so would like to have everyone else's perspective on things, a rational, realistic one.

Not sure about this mood thing today. It's the strangest three yet, but I feel okay so I'm sticking with it.

I'm a curious mix at the moment. A little bit tired (I had a poor night's sleep with many awakenings) and drained, with some anxiety hiding beneath a lot of eager excitement. Today, one way or another, things will begin changing in my life, and I'm both eager to begin the process and wary of it.

I may not have many more opportunities for life-changing events, so I'll be certain to take careful notes and document the process. In the past, before I was writing, I'd keep occasional journals, but had no idea what was important to note and record. Now I have a better idea of what will interest the future Russell, or at least what interests the current one, so it's easier to write shit down than it used to be.

It's human nature to plan, at least I think it is. Some people do it well and about half the time I do a pretty good job of it. Other times I get too caught up in details. It helps. of course, to know what one is planning for. Now, today, I have an end goal in mind, but not much worked out as to the process to achieve it. Vague checkpoints exist, but the reality and nature of the journey is pretty much out of my control. I think that's a good thing. It doesn't take much too realize that my best efforts, my picking and choosing, has led to an unfulfilling life. I wish I'd learned years ago to accept more and to struggle and manipulate less. Freedom is, indeed, a very scary thing, but I think it's better for me.

I need to get a handle on my tendency to overreact. I need to stop making myself feel dreadful. I need to react to events as freshly as possible, but I always have preconceptions and prejudices. I'd like to be more responsive and less concerned.

I've decided if I don't officially recognize summer now it may be over before I can. Since I'm not society cool the arrival of summer is not met with seersucker suits, white shoes, and a new skimmer purchase on Memorial Day weekend.

It is, however, usually noticed by me by the change from coffee to ice tea. I may officially begin ordering that now at coffee shops. I'm not sure if I like iced tea or not, but I drink a lot of it sometimes. It's easy to swallow, I'll give it that. At home I make sun tea on occasion, but don't know if there's a recipe or not. I just put the big container out until it turns some sort of color, then toss in some lemon juice and call it quits.

I was warm all day, from my toes to the top of my recently cut hair. The top of my head hurts, almost like I hit it on sometime, and I was sweating so much when I drove back home today the clerk in Vons commented on it. This was after half an hour shopping, too.

Still, it was a glorious day out today, but that word's inadequate to express how I feel right now. Very much at peace, as opposed to yesterday's trepidation, calm within, and not even obsessing over failures. I've received some good advice (calm the fuck down) which I should probably take.

Cooked. Wrote a little. Thought a lot. Pretended to clean, but it was too warm. I need to move my computers from point A to point B, maybe just to say I did. The machines are easy enough, it's all the goddamn peripherals and cabling that make it such a chore.

I don't think I made many mistakes today. Maybe disappointed people, maybe not. I'm far from godlike.

I've run into a serious, or not so serious, problem. In my attempt to avoid having a blog describing happenings, I've also created a blog that's avoiding talking about anything. I think I should get back on some sort of blogging schedule, just to keep the robots busy.

I should feel wonderful, but I don't, not exactly. It's finally summer and the days are long, glorious, and warm. I'm saving on laundry by wearing little save shorts and underwear, so that's a good thing, and people and places are rewarding me daily with images and kind words, sights and sounds and smells of beauty and fulfillment, and the taste and feel of pleasure.

But I'm troubled. Nagging health issues. Fear. Uncertainty. Doubt. It's sometimes easier when I'm down, when I cease caring much, then when things are bright. Not because I expect brightness to dim or blind me, but darkness is more familiar, I know its tricks and taunts, even its reasons and reasoning. Brightness is a stranger, and offers a panopoly of possible causes, and I question my ability to ferret out the one and correct source. I'd like not to ask "why?" so much, since I rarely develop an accurate or complete answer. I form an initial, rudimentary explanation for joy, as if it needs one, then later discard it as either I think about it more or stumble on clues which I probably mis-interpret. I'm good at finding, or inventing, clues, but I seem to recall they're not always there. I find what I look for more than what exists.

I'm quitting smoking next week and am scared about that, too. It shouldn't be scary, it should be seen as an exciting event, but I'm nearly petrified as the day I've chosen approaches. I know I'll be unfit for human company for about a week, but that doesn't bother me as much as it should. I'm more worried about desire than anything else. When I've tried before, I end up deciding I don't want to quit and resume the habit. And, in a sense, I don't want to quit this time, either. The reasons, the logic and explanations, don't matter. I've gave up on them long ago. I know that works for many people, but not for me, not now.

I'm afraid I won't be convinced to keep it up. That I won't last long enough to reap any of the benefits and rewards, that with feelings of nothing to lose, that I'll weaken. I hate losing. You'd think I'd be used to it by now.

I once heard of a fellow who wanted to lighten the load on his ship of life. I believe the number he arrived at was fifteen hundred for the number of things he felt he should carry with him. I have no idea how he arrived at that number, but it sounds reasonable.

It sounds reasonable, but one day when I was bored I began listing the things I own. Oh my.

Not only do I think it's a good idea not to have a ton of things, I think having a fixed number, whatever it is, would be a pretty neat idea. That way whenever I went shopping I'd have to consider what I would have to get rid of to buy something new. Also, if I had such a radically pared number of possessions, something tells me I'd appreciate much more the things I do have.

There are a few things I own now that I truly enjoy, that I think would survive any drastic cut I had to make, but they are just a few of the countless things filling my life. I don't include people in this list, for obvious reasons, although I'm pretty sure if I even had some sort of ability, I wouldn't cast out anyone I know.

My life is enriched by people much more than it is by things. I'm more amused, delighted, surprised, rewarded, happy, and assured even sitting with someone in a park than I am by any of my possessions. I know what to expect of the things in my life, and they either meet my expectations or fall apart. People, I guess, can fall apart, too (I know I often do), but some choose to stay and enrich my life in ways I never dream of.

That's what I like. Trying to do that for them.

The other thing about expectations (mine) is that they can wholly fail to prepare one for any experience. I go in, expecting this or that, and invariably receive something else. If you've been reading this lately you know that what I get, what the world hands me, or what the reality of the situation is, usually catches me unawares. Worse, it's much harsher and centered on things not me than I would want.

Sometimes, though, I get handed a gold dollar. When I expect to observe and be marginalized, I forget my awkwardness and find happiness. When I cease manipulating, I can receive the world's bounty.

When I stop thinking of myself, I am presented with the wonders of the world.

In additon to being a con man, L Ron Hubbard had some remarkable ideas about education, many of which I suspect he pulled out of his ass. He borders on the obsessive when he writes about misunderstood words, or MUs in the jargon of his followers.

His invented claim is that when you read past a word you don't understand, it inhibits your ability to learn. Evidence for this is growing tired, bored, or otherwise uninvolved with your studies. People who spend money to learn his questionable wisdom spend countless hours questioning themselves and others about these MUs.

They have, of course, their own dictionary, which I've never seen.

As much as I belittle that, I have a huge problem in my own life with misunderstandings. I try to be articulate and exact when I speak or write, and so do most of the people I associate with. Still, invariably, I end up coming away with ideas that I concoct out of straw, that have no roots in anything said or done or conceived of.

I want to believe X so badly that I force it to be true. I think I may do this unconsciously, ignoring everyting that conflicts with my wants, or twisting and spinning everything so it matches up with my absurd views and desires. I do this less frequently with arguments over held beliefs and logic than I do with what I simply want, so I'm not crazy. I'm more pathetic. Deluded.

I think if I want something badly enough, I'll ignore everything to hold onto my dream. I invest so much hope in them that I maintain them, perhaps, for their own sake, maybe out of habit. It's not just words for me, it's whole fabrications. I'm aware of most, large and important realities, but I twist details so that I can build up and sustain my hopes, misunderstanding agrrements and plans and intentions. Eventually, of course, I get the "I told you so," and end up wondering where I went wrong and never see that I didn't go wrong, I thought wrong.

Another dreamless night.

I've heard that we have dreams every night, just don't remember them all. I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. I was curious to guage and track and myself, that's the only reason I'm logging any of this, and am a little disappointed at not having all the data I wanted. I'm not a big believer in dream analysis, though my mom used to do it, but there's someting about our sub-conscious figuring things out and those kind of processes that interest me.

What I think is going on now is my ego continues to struggle with accepting that my id or whatever it is made a mistake. I don't know if this will follow the stages of grief thing or if rationalization will kick in. I guess the result will be either a mature process or unhealthy denial.

Too many variables. Sleep, or lack of, is one, but diet can play a part, too. Last night I binge ate, and I know that's no good for me. Then, overdosed on sugar to the extent I had trouble getting to sleep. So I expect to be a little down today, but not like this.

I'll just do what's in front of me, like I was taught. Don't try to solve everything all at once, don't get involved in the solution, just the process, that kind of shit. Nothing is helped by getting 25 pieces of spam. Makes me think there's real mail, when there isn't.

I'm stretched, thin, and coming to terms. Reassembling, like that liquid thing in Terminator. Is the word coallescing or something like that? I don't know. It will get better, it's not bad now.

It's been pointed out that history is written by the victors. That makes a certain amount of sense because the vanquished rarely, if ever, have the ability to get their word out. The victors not only control the media and the currency, they've won, and what is taught to the next generation is their version of the past.

Truth, as such, is malleable. There's your truth, there's my truth, and the poet and idealist like to believe there's a real truth.

At this moment I'm not certain. What's engaging me right now is similar to, but not indentical with, that struggle over truth. What's interests me is immediate reactions and how they differ from latter ones. In a way, it's like the battle above, but in this case the truth changes.

My immediate reaction to news can be much different than my feelings an hour or a day later. I wonder which is real, do I talk myself into or out of my gut reaction, the first one, when I later have a different view? Or is it just a typical human response, like a sharp blow that first dulls, then fades.

I can get some news that shocks me, that makes me queston the reality of the world I live in, that makes me doubt myself and those around me. "Is this really happening?" I ask, and when assured it is, I falter. This often happens when I ignore other realities and replace them with my own, and the inevitable collision of the two shatters my own. I get the sharp blow, I reel, and as the saying goes, the scales drop from my eyes.

It's a sobering time, a humbling one, and my ego resists, tries to maintain its superiority, and ultimately fails. What emerges hours or days later is a more chastened self, probably a better one, and I absorb and consume the realities of the moment into my new life.

But I sometimes wonder whether or not my initial reaction isn't true, even if it doesn't last.

I think I'm learning a little about my own care and feeding. My mood is a little low right now, but I expect it to climb back up again later. I wish I had one of those cool blogs, where I could put all kinds of things every day. It might be interesting to check my mood like four times a day.

Right now, more than anything else, I think I'm feeling sad. I think the major factor, though, is that the stock market is killing me, and taking away more funds than I can afford to lose, and also I slept poorly last night.

Well, not exactly. I guess I slept fine when I was sleeping, but I woke up like four times in my six hours of sleeping. I may need more, but that's what I often get. I feel pretty good when I get more sleep, but I still dislike the whole sleeping idea. I don't have any dreams to share, not that they mean much, anyway.

I think I was troubled and that's why I kept waking up. I'm getting better about not beating myself up over every real or imagined transgression, but I still don't like it when I'm all demanding and pushy. Not that I am, but I guess I feel I do a little too much "me, me, me!" and not enough "how can I help you?"

I'm a pretty good guy, I'm discovering, and downright wonderful a lot of the time. Still, I have my moments (as do we all), and they continue to make me wish I knew when to call it quits.

I'm humbled and frightened by the things I keep. So much that was, or seemed, important loses a lot of value over time. People don't, they become more worthwhile and trusted and close, but paperwork has little lasting value.

So much stuff that I've tucked away, hoping to keep it safe, is of little interest and less use to me now. Maybe I'm maturing, maybe I'm getting ruthless, but I no longer care to have all this stuff cluttering my life and threatening to capsize the boat of my existence. I'm not about to question my values, or the values of the younger me to be precise, but I wonder why I don't toss things when I'm done with them.

Surely I learned what I needed to after printing out and studying the FreeBSD FAQ. I have a bound copy of the manual, for chrissakes. I have no idea why I saved for so long the accompanying documentation for I/O boards, and all that OS/2 stuff is just plain embarrassing. I have no idea what I'm planning on doing with that pricey Describe software, but it looks to be headed for the trash.

I lie to myself a lot. Not only about my hopes and my past, but also about my intentions. For a long time I honestly thought I was going to build that one computer that would run all that stuff, for awhile I had it, but I never went back and did what I wanted to. Now, it's all just worthless crap.

I need a lift. Maybe I'll watch the news.

Today I feel oddly inspired. Odd, only because I normally feel pretty lethargic.

I can't explain it. I'm not worried about competence today, another rare event, and I'm filled with confidence. I don't know quite what to do with this trifecta of inspiration, confidence, and capability. I haven't had much practice feeling this way, but I love it. I think I could get things done if this keeps up.

The only downside is I decided to put off until tomorrow or Tuesday quitting smoking. I made a trial run, but I gave it up because I was concerned about having my sister in my face all day. I think it will be easier for me when there's no one around for me to annoy, but I may need some support. There's groups on the Web, obviously, but I'm getting away from that kind of thing. I love message boards, but the people rarely pay me the attention I deserve.

I just feel awful when I post and there's no response. I don't mind not getting comments here, I think I'm making this record just for me, but I know some people check it out from time to time.

Hi, to you!

I can't describe how good it feels to be relieved, however momentarily, of my constant, nagging inferiority and that harsh voice in my head yelling at me. I think a good portion of it comes not from anyone acknowledging my talents or anything like that, but lately I've been feeling both accepted and trusted. It's nice to feel that, and I don't quite know how to deal with it.

Today I want to do a ton of things and I know I won't get to one-tenth of them. Doesn't matter. I'll get some things done, some literary and some necessary. I'm all dressed up to get filthy cleaning things I haven't seen in years, and I like that because I always discover things I've forgotten I own.

I don't think it's a good thing to forget my possessions. If I have that many, I should make a pile to give away.

But I don't want to give away how I feel today. I want to embrace it.

You might think that I'm some sort of super-brain. It's true that I exercise my brain more than my body, but for all the work out I give it, it's in pretty shitty shape. Unlike bench presses or curls, my brain is not getting any better and stronger. It gets a lot of exercise, but doesn't seem to improve.

Take, for instance, my predictive abilities. I see things all the time, meet people, go places, have experiences and study books. In none of those ways am I at all different from every regular Joe on the street, but I use all that gained knowledge to try to read the future and see what will happen next. Faith Popcorn has the best job in the world, or did when I first heard of her. She was a futurist, who got paid good money to predict things.

I suppose I could do a halfway decent job of foretelling some future stuff, but nothing anyone would pay me for. I don't know if the radical new Coke 2 (with half the carbs AND half the calories) will be success or not, but I bet if I did that the Coke people couldn't throw money at me fast enough.

No, those sorts of predictions don't interest me. I'm not about to begin having columns in the Enquirer letting the readers know which stars are ripe for breakups and marriages, it's a much more insidious predictive area I struggle in and fail.

I spend an inordinate amount of time figuring out what will happen, or how people will behave. Some call it worrying, I call it planning. Almost like chess, I will say X and he or she will respond with either A or Z. I know what somone will or won't do, I think, I've got them pigeon-holed and all figured out. As soon as I do so -- Wham! -- the Universe hits me with the big "You are so wrong" slap of reality.

I am continually amazed by people. Just floored. I get nearly every detail wrong every time I think I know what will happen. The most amazing part of it is, I seem to forget entirely next time around. In fact, I can't seem to remember from one minute to the next that I have, in fact, never correctly gauged anyone. They exceed and delight me every time I try.

You think I'd know better by now.

It's hard for me to rate my mood a four. I have no reason not to give it a five. I wanted to put three.

I don't know why this is. I had a glorious day, after a disppointing morning, got a little sun, stilled my soul and all that rot, andam feeling more peaceful than at any time in recent memory. God is in his heaven and all's right with the world.

And yet I have a problem acknowledging that things are going well. It's not at all like I expect them to fall apart, and it's not as if there's so much going on, anyway, but I have a perverse streak of resistance against admitting I'm good. I don't know if I complain a lot or not. I do know that I'm typically negative and deprecating, which may be the same thing in a slightly different guise. But i think my need for attention prevents me from saying I'm good.

If I hurt, some people will come to my aid. I try to shoo them away, but i must want it. I must, somehow, enjoy the concern I can wrest from others, and feel it's a more genuine emotion than any other. I have trouble acknowledging and admitting much that is not generosity, much that would be a personal acknowledgement of myself.

The generic benevolences are easy for me to accept.

I have no idea what it would take for me to admit I'm doing great. I can't understand my reluctance to say it, and I think it may be that I'm afraid if I'm good that there will be no one to aid me. I don't know how to handle health, what to do with acceptance. If I'm good, those seeking to aid me will see their job as done and leave, and that may induce me to continue saying things could be better. The truth is, though, things are better than I ever imagined, and I'm sure they'll get better. I'm just afraid to admit it, like it's a dream that I'll awaken from.

It's not news that I think many people are more adept at this life business than I think I am. I'm quite possibly wrong about that, I may be functioning better than I think, but I do have a possible liability when it comes to some things.

I'm pretty good with most computer stuff, even though they fail to excite me the way they did, and I think I'm adept at stringing words together, but neither of those are things I can talk about very often. I'm blessed with a curious nature and inquisitive mind, so I've checked a number of things out during my time on this planet. The result is, like so many others, I know a little about a lot of things, but nothing in much depth.

Other people seem to know a lot about things, much more than I do. Now, I can't possibly know everything about everything, try as I might, but I frequently find myself in situations where everything I can contribute to the conversation is over in less than a minute. It's not a bad thing, since I can listen and learn or ask questions, but I don't feel as if I'm pulling my weight.

People who are professionals know a helluva lot about things. People who are passionate about something are similarly well versed. I just kind of sit on the sideline of just about everything, and what I've seen of life and living doesn't always give me much to say. I don' t think people feel I'm stupid, just boring.

It's tough that way, that Rennaisance Man thing. Until I can find some sort of common ground, I can't uphold my end of any conversation, and sometimes I wish I was much better informed than I am. So much of what everyone else knows is a closed book to me, but given a chance, it's usually an interesting book.