Had this burst of hyperproductivity yesterday. Ran all sorts of errands, worked on client projects, figured out that if you turn my two foam chairs to face one another you get a sofa, repositioned stuff in my bedroom for maximum aesthetics, rewrote my online dating profile, and didn’t stop until 5AM. Slept a few hours then got up and went at it again.

“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.”
- Rumi

Sometimes the sense of being lost and adrift is so profound it is as though a giant hand prevents me from getting out of bed. What am I supposed to be doing with my life? Surely I’m not meant to be a graphic artist forever. I have this nagging sense that I am almost at a point where I can get a perspective on myself, a place of focus where I can see how all my interests, talents and desires mesh together. I’m also visited by this feeling of having to get Out There, like whatever I need is happening outside my world.

If you’ve actually been diagnosed with ADD, then fine, I can sympathize. But otherwise I regard the sudden proliferation of ADD as symptomatic of people’s lack of boundaries in their lives and an excuse to behave inconsiderately. Our technology has given us faster communication, but not *better* communication. When we say we’re getting “more” done, it’s measured in volume and not quality. We don’t get *more* done faster, we’re just faster. So now we can have more IMs, more erratic emails, more abbreviated cell phone conversations, and only meet face to face to seal the deal because actual connection and conversation should be savored like a rare wine and only opened for very special occasions. But let’s not acknowledge that we’re so busy being busy that we can’t be bothered to communicate; let’s just say we’re ADD.

The brass ring blurs by until it is just a streak, a forgotten part of the scenery. I’m not just tired of this ride; the whole theme park bores me to death.

Everywhere the bombs are falling, the deus ex machina solution for stories we are too lazy to finish. They are falling outside the window, blossoming like exploding hearts. A bomb falls into my cereal bowl and the cold milk splashes across my face, waking me up.

I finished the puzzle the other day. Damn thing took years to sort out. When it was done I went and superimposed it over the vacant lot. Now it is a welcoming scene of a park, with people moving in and out. Someone is flying a kite on the other side of a hill. Children are playing near the fountain.

At home there is another puzzle. There is always another one.

In her presence language abandoned me and I became a stare, a gaping child. I could sense the flames in the next room licking their way up the curtains, but I didn’t care. Someone has stolen a fantasy of mine and installed it in an apartment here in town…