finnegan's dream

I think I dreamt about posting an entry on my blog last night, and this morning I woke up thinking, "Now that's behind me, I don't have any obligations to post anything for at least a week." Which makes it sound like a chore, which it isn't. Or it shouldn't be, because it's supposed to be an enjoyable past-time, this blogging thing.

Maybe I just haven't had the time to sit down and reflect, trying to come up with interesting and clever things to say so this blog remains relevant or at least readable, all the while not wanting to let down whatever readers I have. Which is funny, because from the very beginning I really only wanted to start a blog after I decided I was going to do it for myself.

For the person, by the person. On my own time, in my own way, for my own pleasure. Now there's a side of me that's worried I'm not writing enough for "the audience", that maybe "the audience" might not understand what I'm writing, or what if "the audience" thinks my writing stinks? It's funny. I'm not particularly bothered by it, but the thought always lingers at the back of my mind when I'm posting (or when I realize I'm not). I should just stick to thinking I don't have an audience.

I'm dreaming of getting my own bike.

The business competition is starting to heat up. I got a lump in my throat when they announced we got through to the Top 10. That's $350 in the bank, which is nice until you realize how insignificant that amount of money is (bear in mind, there's three of us in the group). Still, we're going in the right direction and now we've cleared all the obstacles there's only the grand prize to dream about.

Machine language is still Greek to me.

In line with the randomness of my thoughts (free-streaming audio-visuals at 1GHz), I haven't seen an actual rainbow in the sky for months now. I wonder why. I'm also wondering why I'm wondering why; I don't believe in omens, so it shouldn't matter. It would be cool to see a rainbow one of these days, though. Its fleeting beauty reminds me of the transient nature of life itself; one moment there and marvelous, the next gone... like a dream.

PLAYLIST

Morning Wonder -- The Earlies

Buddy Holly -- Weezer

New Slang -- The Shins

Somewhere Only We Know -- Keane

Idioteque -- Radiohead

a.w.o.l.

I've really taken my time in getting back to posting here. I was never in a hurry, although I did have a few stories I wanted to share. I just didn't have the time. Between getting things done, fraternizing with the usual crowd, and squeezing in a vacation on a tropical island after the semester has begun, I hadn't the luxury to navel gaze and wax philosophical.

And neither am I in the mood, after what just happened. So close, yet so far. The image of rotting corpses scattered all over churns the stomach; I can't imagine the stench. The fact that these used to be living, breathing human beings makes it even harder to accept. The fact that this many deaths could have been prevented makes it all the more tragic.

That's more than 144,000 presumed dead. ('Presumed', he says, when in reality the real figures are probably higher). I can't wrap my head around that number. And the personal stories are heart-wrenching. Entire families wiped out in seconds, leaving their sole survivors with hardly anything to live for. A gaunt, bespectacled Indian man in his fifties is made to bear the pain alone, because his wife and all his kids were killed. He doesn't know his purpose in life anymore, he tells the TV camera. His voice is pleading, desperate. A lady with an Australian accent can't contain her grief, because she can't find her daughters anywhere. She assumes the worst. An Indonesian recounts losing his daughter in his arms, calling out to her one last time.

And the thousands of children who are now orphans. So many, so suddenly, so unnecessarily. If only more could be done, instead of just handing out cash to the Red Cross in the hopes that it will reach the victims in time. If only warning systems were in place, there wouldn't be so much pain. If only...

What a way to start the new year.