Yesterday I had a rather frightening experience. It all started as I was loading groceries into the car. Just after the coffee got tossed in and while I was nesting the eggs and milk between the toilet paper and the family pack of Cheezies I got this incredible rush of jealousy toward my BackTracker characters.
I became abruptly convinced they're lives were much more exciting and fulfilling than mine, that I'd more or less wasted my own life on trivial pursuits and, was there not someway I could yet become an ace real-life crime fighter? Or, at the very least, a high-tech computer guru carving the leading edge of cyberspace technology?
It took the entire twenty-minute drive home to fast talk myself out of these powerful feelings and reaffirm that I was, in fact, doing exactly what I had dreamed of doing my entire life--writing novels. That I never had, in any serious sense, wanted to be a cop and that people (like myself) who use their fingers to add, likely wouldn't do well in computer sciences.
I had not, I reaffirmed to myself, led a useless life and, despite the fact I have never bungie jumped, sky-dived, discovered a body, or been involved in a shootout, my life has not been boring.
I also reminded myself of the tragedies and pain my characters experiences. They, too, have unfulfilled dreams. I said that while the dangers they are constantly facing make for good reading, they wouldn't make for good living. And that although my heroes are handsome and fairy-tale loving--alas, they are too young for me.
Today, I'm okay with things again. The episode likely happened because I find grocery shopping an incredibly boring task. My mind just needed some stimulation...right?
NOTE TO SELF: load some heavy-metal music into the vehicle CD player, ready to blast the next time disturbing thoughts invade my psyche.
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