# whatever

I'm having trouble caring about much today. I don't know what to make of that, honestly. I just want to go home and watch TV and think of nothing. Especially not my computer, sitting there in the office, quietly looming in my mind or whatever. I need to reinstall something. I need to spin my wheels some more.

I need to actually write something worthwhile that I want to maybe publish sometime.

# publish

So far I have self-published quite a lot of stuff. I have this page, my blog for example, and sundry others that might still be floating around somewhere. I write and re-write colorschemes and themes and stuff to match my mood, but it's just spinning wheels I feel like.

I've only really published, the kind of publishing where you have to actually get past someone else and they have to think you're good as well, a few times. Fewer if you don't count the ones by friends. Maybe even none at all.

Some of me wants to ignore aesthetic concerns, just get something done no matter the cost or the venue, but the bully part of me won't let it happen.

# steinmart

There were these paintings at Steinmart that were apparently done by real artists. I know that all of the nameless paintings in the bargain stores and motels and fast-food restaurants all over were, ultimately, done by someone, but these were named someones, with glossy photos of them in the corners of the paintings.

They were all by different people but they all looked the same.

# moving

There are things that move and there are things that stay still. I'm not sure which is which sometimes. It all depends on the way you look at it, right? I'm publishing things, they are going out in the world; or the world is moving past them, barely noticing; or they're in a box I've made and that I set out on my stoop but it's clearly my box, and no one else looks inside, it's a felony to look inside someone else's box, they think to themselves, maybe, walking past, like a mailbox.

I want to pick up and move. I want to go somewhere and be something more than what I am. But the age-old problem: you cannot move away from yourself.