He does. Really.
Once again I've sunk myself into the tumultuous waters of what do I want to do. This time it's a doozy of a whirlpool though. Marc compared me to an unnamed someone who is always hatching stupid ideas and crazy get rich quick schemes. I've gone back and forth on so many things. Photography, web design, programming, getting an office job, staying home. I've lost focus and I hate when my brain descends into chaos. We talked last night. I mostly listened. It's hard to come up with anything to say when Marc was perfectly right. I cried, buckets of course. I swear the tub was half full with my tears. Later I prayed that somehow, someway, I could be shown a clearer direction.
So this morning, I went to my friend Jeanie's brother's funeral. No, I didn't know him personally, but she's my friend, so I was there for her. And of course, I cried. I cry at everything. Cartoons, poems, stupid pictures. It was a nice service.
I left and went to Border's after it was over. I was looking for a book on Flash to make websites and animations. And the weirdest thing happens.
I start talking with this woman who was looking at Adobe books with her young son. Well her son's name was Boston after the Red Sox. Not so unusual, but I have another friend Tiffany who has a Boston for the same reason. She, the new person not Tiffany, has children whose names start with A and C. Boston was her B. I ask her if Boston was her B child. She says yes with an odd look on her face. I explain that my friend Tiffany's Boston is also her B. Weird. Then we find out we have kids almost the same ages, 10 and 7. But her 10 and 7 are girls, mine are boys. We both lived in Manhattan and went to K-State about the same time. She is also into web design, but from the Graphic Design perspective, not the programming end. She loves graphic design and drawing, but just likes photography. I'm the opposite love photography, drawing is okay.
In retrospect I think meeting her was just a reminder that I should be pursing these things and not losing myself in the mundane-ness of fifth grade.