Thursday, March 30, 2006

TIME

been a month now in this place..

So many jumbled thoughts...so much to say... and of course...Confusion.
my days are so full suddenly, - but the strange thing is that i look back at a week, - and really can't figure, what I filled it with.... work is strange, - with very little space for original creative ideas...Actually there is time... but it'll involve a lot of self innitiative.... and i don't have the energy for that....

Keep getting a good idea here and there, - but taking that idea, and turning it into a proposal, - or making a presentation seems like a mammoth effort...

while thinking out my plan, - this script that i am following, - it seems good, - but that same scary thing is happening again... time is again flying and everytime a month goes by, - and i honestly don't know what i did in it , - i get scared.... i don't want to feel that way after 10 years.....

drifting is hell of a scary thing, - cause its aimless, control-less, lacks speed.... So what happens is that after a longish while you land up at a place do did not intend on landing up into, you're even more lost than before, - back tracking is rarely an option, perhaps the only decision left is WHEN you want to stop drifting... and then things truly begin...

My point being that i'm afraid i'm drifting.

Hmm - this song seems to say it all:

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an off hand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way
Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun
And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it’s sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in the relative way, but you’re older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death
Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the english way
The time is gone, the song is over, thought I’d something more to say

Home, home againI like to be here when I can
And when I come home cold and tired
It’s good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells.