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Archives 2002-10-07 - 11:22 p.m.


Sometimes, I imagine myself in a war, sitting in a foxhole, waiting for the first wave.

Not that I'm terribly heroic, nor brave by any standard. But it always seems to me that everything we complain about here is of little or no consequence whenever we look at the big picture.

Oh look, it's chicken for dinner again. What, waking up at five for your first flight? Your instructor's a dick, because he doesn't like the way you tuck in your shirt...

No one ever gets things done anymore, in my estimation. Everything seemingly is about convenience. I'm susceptible as much as the next guy is to all this, though I try not to let it get to me. Once I lapse into that mode, then it's all going down the toilet. Because by then, nothing is fun anymore, and everything's going to be chore.

That's why, almost every night before I go to bed, I dream about being there, just somewhere where everyone is accountable, everyone works with everyone else to make sure we all survive. Everything is done with a purpose, everything means...everything.

Not that it's anything close to being authentic, but it'll do. An odd way for an escape, it seems, but it does put into perspective why we're here anyway.

Or it could just be something to do with all the books I've read since I was a little kid...

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