Do you ever feel the need to create? This is tearing me apart right now.

I want to put something in to the world. I would right a story, draw, code, or something. It's soo frustrating. I don't let myself do these things because I want to do them perfectly. If I write I want it to be Neal Stephenson, Douglas Coupland, or T.S. Elliot that comes out of the pen. If I draw manga I want Ghost in the Shell. If I make music I want Moby, Portishead, or Björk. I don't want their styles, just their quality.

This is stupid for a whole lot of reasons that probably seem obvious to all of you. Just in case I'm wrong about that I'm going to go ahead and enumerate them... that and doing so will make me feel better in some really odd way. First and foremost, amongst all those names I dropped I challenge you to find a single individual that got where they are overnight. It takes practice and passion to be at the top of your field. You can't get there without doing it. Secondly, not being able to do something perfectly is an incredibly dumb reason to not do it. Finally, who cares if it's perfect if it makes me happy? If it makes someone happy.

I get spun out on this a lot. Maybe I need to see someone about it, I don't know. I want sooo badly to create something beautiful and I just feel thwarted and pent-up because I am so afraid of failing.

I think what I'll do is start trying to create something, anything, and put the results up here. Not for any reasons relating to my fragile ego... just something to remind me that I am putting something into the mix in some way. That and just to have done something.

Do any of you fight with this? How do you deal with it?

In a way I'm just feeling sorry for myself by typing all of this in. It does make me feel better, though. I guess that's why I do this.

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Sometimes I want to be more personal in the headspace. On the other hand I sometimes feel like I am already too personal. In a way, I am. I give these webpages a lot of what's going on in my head. How much more personal can you get. On the other hand that tells you very little of the external details of my life. I think those might make more interesting things to read. I'm not sure.

Have I said this already? I can't remember. I need to give the headspace some kind of search mechanism. Should be pretty easy. I'll do that.

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On that note it's Vignette Time kiddos

Kara and I were sitting in the park this weekend. It was a gorgeous day: perfectly clear, sunny, and a little cool. The masses were out doing summery things. It was a good afternoon to be on a blanket. She was there to read some piece of war-related misery for one of her courses. I was there for the pleasure of her company and the sheer joy of actually being outside in the sun. Sun worship is one of the few religions to interest me in anything more than a sterilely intellectual fashion.

As you are aware, I'm certain, dogs are a feature of any blanket afternoon and this was certainly no exception. Kara, it must be said, is a remarkably outgoing person. There seems to be no one that can resist her charms (she is a redhead after all.) We exchanged pleasantries and affection with every owner and dog to pass by. It was great fun.

One dog and owner combination stands out in my mind. He (the human) was perhaps fortyish. If I learned his name it doesn't stick with me. She (the dog) was a border collie. She was stereotypical of her breed in that she looked like your typically tidy british shepherding dog. Her name was Maggie.

Maggie, as it happened, was an exceptional frisbee player. She expected the frisbee to be in flight the very moment she returned it. She was rarely dissapointed. We watched this from our blanket for at least an hour.

It was a warm enough day that, well insulated as she was, she was getting quite a workout. She would frequently stop to cool off in the pond... which often meant the frisbee was going for a dip as well. I guess border collies prefer not to swim because Maggie would only go in as far as she could wade.

Now, being a rather efficient sort, she would opt to have a quick drink each time. Why not kill two birds with one stone, I suppose? Of course, when one is of the canine persuasion, drinking requires setting one's frisbee down. Well, when the wind is blowing a frisbee set afloat tends to develop strong migratory urges.

It was a matter of time before it got away, I suppose. This was no hill for a climbing dog, though. Maggie seemed confounded only briefly and appeared to give up. I will forever have more faith in canine intellect. A short while later, as the wandering disc came in sight of the far bank, water-weary but none the worse, our fearless heroine, even restricted to wading as she seemed to be, not only remained mindful of her charge but was able to recover it.

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Anything interesting going on in your lives?

Love ya,

-Loop