cookie-cutting me

Another day begins ... on the top top storey of this high high building overlooking the too-blue bay of this harbour city, container ships peppering the vista and a nagging sensation that I am practicing bad bad time-management by sitting here and playing blog-this instead of perusing documents, twiddling my cocoa-buttered fingers and billing accordingly.

Instead I am thinking ... what am I doing here or, more to the point, what I am doing here. I am committed to this start of a career, I am. I am. But I also know I cannot do a job that can be done by anyone else ... I need to create a career, a product, a work, that could only be done by me ... that could not be born without me ... that could not otherwise have even been imagined. This is my old song and I have been fine-tuning the melody all my life ... I just need a new instrument.

All I know right now and for sure is that I cannot be cut out by the cookie-cutter ... I will not be made the same as the next and the next and the next, where small concerns consume all days and great passions are reduced to ideas that belong only in great romantic tragedies ... I will not be cut out unless all men are cut out into little stars and pasted across the sky.