In my defense, I do try.

Open up the page, stare blankly, yet longingly at that ever-mocking blinky cursor thing. I believe this is attempt number 3. or 4 if you count the time my modem just stopped working and i couldn't even access the intertangledness that is the internet and simply waved the white flag (code word for went to sleep).

And now you're asking me for my for 10 goals.

I've never been one for overachieving, so generally my goals float around the vicinity of "wake up at 6am to run everyday," "don't eat red meat for a month," or "try not to drink till you puke." And I've always been trapped in wonderment when I see "achievers" in action. Then, immediately following the mouth-gaping awe is a secret bittersweet hurricane of thought. It begins like this: Let me leave the big goals to the others, let me sit happily on the sidelines. Let me reap the benefits of all that achievement, watch the movies that are made, read the books that are written, stay in the hotels that have been imagined, eat the food, wear the clothes. Let me cheer on life and capturing it all in my memory (and with my trusty G7). But the bitter little fucker comes when i think to myself: "Self, are you underestimating you? Are you underutilizing your talents? (and here comes the ultimate bitter - the bitter that leaves you with your tongue out wishing you could skim that layer of tastebuds off) Self, are you simply a lazy coward?!"

And right at that moment, when that last question settles its bitter, nasty little self into my heartstrings, is when I have the biggest goals and feel conviction with the greatest tenacity. I will start my own creative firm with E-S-G-U-E-R-R-A on the front door. I will quit this job, and work for Leo Burnett in Dubai. I will write the most creative, beautiful work this world has ever seen.

So I start at step one, with the vivacity of a freight train, by reevaluating my current work and mapping out my course of action. I can do it. I will get there. It's so simple. All I need to do is...

..And then the locomotive that is my will, slows. Even stops, sometimes. And my goals return to their meager little selves - "Clean the house as you go so it doesn't get too dirty," "Try to put $500 in savings a month instead of buying shoes."

But you know what? I'm OK with my measly little goals. It makes for that moment when I feel the strongest about my future, feel even more wonderful and so thick with emotion, whether its me hysterical and crying or flitting about with the vigor of a wide-eyed child.

So sometimes i have big goals and sometimes they are little. But all of the goals mentioned have been real at one point of another. Let me see... that's 8.

So, here's 2 more that I have at this very moment:

1. Write more, coz this was fun.
2. Don't let my anger make a fool of me. (totally unrelated to anything here, but totally related to something in the browser window next to this one)