it is so difficult to have it so easy.

i havent written in far too long. one of the inevitabilities of a relationship is that the rapturous moments that might be shared with the entire internet are instead shared with only one love.

two issues arise from this: first, too many rapturous moments are shared instead with random clowns on blackberry gchat; and second, too many potentially rapturous moments are squandered in the face of a good night’s rest. not tonight, i guess.

it is so tempting to go to bed. to sleep. to rest. to say fuck this, it’s only 0130 but i’m tired and the morning will come and fuck that too, i’ll sleep til noon and read for an hour and take a nap and call this victory.

once there was a time when i took all of this much more seriously. i’m very happy that i left that time behind, because it was frankly too much work for not enough reward, but the motivation was correct, i think.

i have spent much of the past few weeks learning about two things: the synthesis of art and religion in the middle ages (for class) and how to build a really great fucking bar (for life). the latter is the one that motivates me. this isn’t about alcohol, though it helps. this is about mastering something.

i learned my lesson the hard way that i’m not about to pick up throwing or catching a softball. following baseball, that’s easy; watching football, i can fake; playing sports, i’m still too much of a bitch. alright.

but i have spent two years now observing a mentor and desiring a finer apartment; and it has been five years since wanting to learn to appreciate art well enough to fake a conversation with my then-girlfriend’s hipster friends (many of whom i now realize, after trips to the louvre and moma with my new and improved girlfriend, were faking it anyway); and nearly a decade since i was first inspired to understand classical music by my host father and jazz and blues by my real father.

i strongly believe that most of my spare time ought to be spent trying to better myself. sometimes, i’m tired. sometimes, i’d rather watch the royal rumble. or whatever. but as i read the gamble by tom ricks, which i borrowed, and it talks about col hr mcmaster who wrote dereliction of duty, which i read in college, i think to myself, goddamnit, maybe there’s a place for you. just as you are. well, more or less.

we’ll see where it is. there’s at least ten more years of figuring these things out — discovering the ways that you can put together the dirt taste of arugula with the dirt taste of catfish to create a delicious mud pie, or determining how you can mix together a really good mustard with a really good steak rub, or whatever — but i had damn well better get there.

i don’t know what the goal is. i know it involves more school, and probably more work. i know it will be disappointing as hell if it doesn’t lead to more travel and learning and understanding. but above all else, i know that it’s not about getting what you want — it’s about wanting what you’ve got.

noted.