I'm at work. I should be looking busier, but I'm tired of appearances.

I'm writing on an old page of our reservation book.  It started with plotting out a new daily regime having me awake by 7, breakfasting downstairs as I read the Globe and Mail and then writing a bit.  It sounds quite romantic and lovely in my head, but reality tells me that the snooze button will be (self-)justifiably pressed a very many times. Or if I were to make my morning date with myself, I'll end up eating too much and reading and writing too little.

I really need to focus now and figure out what I want to do, who I want to be.  I've been filling space and time for the past 2 almost 3 years now and my excuses of sadness and brokenness no longer have weight.  I made it through, my self-destruction that is. The rubble and dust have cleared, now it's time for the rebuild.  But where shall this tower go? Of what shall it be built? I'm an uninspired and directionless architect.     

 A strong sense of direction is key to the success of, well, anything.  I appreciate all my dad stories, his way of instilling fatherly advise.  My favorite was the birds and the bees talk while driving the dirt back roads from the farm into town.  We never talked on those rides, but one day when I was mid to late teens, he looked at me and spoke/barked in the Donald Hofer way of speaking/barking and said "Just don't go getting urself pregnant, ya hear!" He may have trailed off into a mumble of me being the smart one and not needing to go mess up my life in that sorts, which makes me smile and melts away the memories from when he had less kind things to say.

The other lesson which was both preceded and followed with the declarative and Donald Hofer trademark of !!Pay Attention!! was the necessity of knowing where you are at at all times and how to follow the back country roads of rural Alberta. Differentiating between North, South, East, and West.  That advice just annoyed me.  It was redundant, to the point where Chinese water torture would seem the reprieve.  But he was right.  The most important thing I could have learned from him was making sure I always knew where I was and where I was going.

Getting lost isn't all horrible.  Enjoying a scenic detour, discovering places one might not ordinarily discover had they stayed on the main more efficient thoroughfare, is only a good thing, colouring ones journey-have I mentioned I hate referencing the word journey when talking about life- it makes me shudder. -Actually, I'm torn.  I'm not sure if agree with what I formally wrote.  getting lost is awesome!  My best experiences are when I wasn't knowing where I was and the frantic scramblings of trying to get back on track.  In the end, I always got back on track.  I always reached my destination.  But I guess that's my problem, not being lost, but lacking a destination.  It doesn't matter how I get there, but this endless hippy meandering is getting me nowhere.  I've stopped, smelt the flowers, now I suppose I should build.