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I hate journals. I hate journals. I hate journals.

Tapped into another web ring of personal sites and read more about dozens of different people living the same lives from coast to coast. I suppose some people dig visiting a site to keep tabs on what some stranger does day to day, but I really can't stand it. I'm sure diaries have some sort of therapeutic value, but I don't get it, myself. You know what I've learned from reading a few journals out there? Get this -- people eat food and go to work on a regular basis. And they're tired. And they hate their parents. Riveting. :>

To each his own, I suppose. Whatever keeps people going from day to day. I can't deny people what keeps them from going insane and bringing firearms into public schools.

But I miss opinions. I found a site done by some guy who's 40 and married. He rants and raves about television and popular culture and it's the sort of site I really hate at first because I think he's an arrogant brat, and then I realize that he's pretty cool and aims to do basically what I seek to do. I realize he's like me. An arrogant brat. I suppose it doesn't bother me as much as it used to. The number one thing I hear about my site is that people don't understand it, can't comprehend what I'm trying to do or attempting to achieve.

I don't know what to do about it. I guess the object of this game is so simple that people suspect that they're missing something greater. But strip this site down and all it is is some twenty-year-old pseudo-intellectual sitting alone in a room in a house in Dallas posting his opinions to preserve his own sanity. Nothing more than that. Come on, this is a personal site. I'm not selling a product or advocating a service, I'm just expressing myself, goofing off, taking advantage of the times I live in. It's not so complicated.

I also read a journal which detailed a new dream for each entry. I have to wonder if this person is one of those types who actually dreams a lot, or if he started bullshitting a month into the journal in order to produce interesting content. At any rate, he dreamed of various things, usually strange, as dreams are, and I couldn't identify with him at all.

I wish I had dreams. I never have dreams. I haven't done all that much research into dreams -- you know, what types of people are more likely to dream often than others -- but it would be fascinating to explore. Is it that people who dream a lot need to release their imaginative energies subconsciously because they don't do it consciously? I've heard that argument before. Does that mean non-dreamers like myself are creative and always have somnii of ornate gothic towers rising from powerful castles, or fancies of 500 foot waterfalls protruding from magical clouds?

I miss dreams. I don't dream about my parents. I don't dream about any friends. I don't dream about heroic or romantic situations. I don't dream about captive or torturous events. I don't even dream about Anna.

I've had the rare dream long ago when I walked into my middle school and all the sudden I was in a Wal-Mart, and bizarre jumps like that (which probably symbolizes my complete indifference towards details), but I don't dream of things and people close to me. I feel sad about it, honestly. Does it mean I care less about those people than others do?

I have the personality type of the visionary, INTJ (Intuitive, Introverted, Thinking, Judging), of the mastermind, and this is very similar to INFJ, which I believe is the inventor personality. I don't come up with amazing or psychic or insightful ideas in dreams. I don't go about with my day and all the sudden come up with brilliance. How I come up with the ideas that make me successful and productive is through strict and simple logic. That's it. In other words, my first instinct is usually the correct one -- my thought process lends itself to one direct, simple line to one set of solutions. This differs from people who come up with very complex solutions to problems first and strip down and simplify them later. I build up the other way.

What's my point? My point is that I miss the ability to be able to come up with ideas on a whim. I can't conjure things out of midair. I'm not the type of person who serves as a good culture for dreams to grow in. I come up with ideas through a stringent, conscious thought process.

I envy people who dream up entire fantasy worlds with complex relationships and world histories. I envy children who construct an infinite number of situations to place their toys in. I envy the people who introduce entirely new ways of thinking to worlds which are stuck in ruts.

I envy writers and poets and artists and the creative people out there. I wish my inspiration was driven from a blessing-curse of being forced to create to quell the raging fire in the mind and heart, to put ink to paper for relief from the ideas bursting out of each overflowing capillary. My inspiration is driven from a desire to improve something that I thought was done sloppily in the past. Not to retool it, but to rival it from scratch, to create something better. I'm a kickass implementor and manager. I'm no innovator, and I'm no artist. I do great design, but I don't really create anything innovative. That's why web design is such a bitch for me sometimes -- I want to create something absolutely mind-blowing, but it ends up looking like something else that's already been done. It looks nice and all, but not earth-shattering.

But I can't change how I am. I will have to become successful in this world by tailoring to my strengths, instead of putting all my faith in something I'm not as good at. I can improve in snatching subtle ideas and developing them, but I think I'm better at rethinking something that's already been done. This is not to say that I don't have an intense imaginative mind -- I do -- but it's the idealist sort, not the sort that gives birth to revolutionary thinking. Make sense? I suppose it doesn't.

I can guarantee that I'll be successful -- it's already started to happen, and I'm still a young 'un. If I ever hit it bigtime, I think it'll be because I took an ailing company or product and redesigned and revamped it, instilling life into the poor thing. Streamlining it, cutting it down to efficient size.

It's pleasant to think about what I have the potential to become. I just need to get over the fact that I'm going to have to accomplish it all without dreams. I'd like to be known after my death as a groundbreaking figure in history. But I don't think that's going to happen.

Oh well. I can still try. I'm going to keep writing about how I feel, experimenting with different styles and rules. Maybe I can tap into that realm of the imagination where the artists mingle seductively with creativity.

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