I want to play. Really play, without deadlines hanging over my head. Without holding up long suffering editors. Free. Clear. Really play.
For instance, lots of talk about Jaguar and I want to install this on my PowerBook. And I want to wipe my Dell laptop clean and re-install Red Hat sans the dual boot with Windows 2000. I want to finally make the move to non-Windows (though I’ll most likely install Virtual PC and Windows 2k on the Mac).
And I want to finish up ThreadNeedle and the new Here’s My List application. Why? Because I want you to play, and me to be finished. Boy, you don’t know how much I want to be finished. The code doesn’t flow from my fingers; it drips out, line by line.
I want to read the books you’ve recommended to me, and I also want to read or re-read every book (well, almost every book) on the ALA banned book list, and contribute my part to the Banned Books Project. After all, considering my upbringing, I have a moral obligation to get involved.
And I want to write about my hometown. There’s stories in that little town, more than you can see in the New York Times article, though this might give you an glimmer of what one can expect.
I want to write about the bride buried on her wedding day and the gold mine abandoned so quickly, rusted tools are still stuck in the wall. And I want to tell you the tale of the crazy old man who killed my Dad’s partner with a shotgun when they went to the shooter’s cabin. Or about the fences with signs saying “Trespassers will be shot”, posted by people who mean every word.
I want to describe nights filled with the cry of cougars, and the scream of prey. And to tell you about the ghost cat who lived on an island in the lake.
To share with you moments such as walking through fruit trees with my gentle Welsh grandfather, him picking a peach from a tree and cutting slices with his pocket knife to give to me. Biting into sun warmed fruit, juices flowing down my chin as I meet the smile in his eyes.
Perhaps I’ll write it as an online book, as others have considered or started. Doesn’t this sound like fun?
Okay. Shelley’s reached a book burnout moment. Yup, all the symptoms are there.
I’ll be good tomorrow, but for tonight, I’m going to bed early and cozy up with the Sportswriter. Oh, and a book, too. To read.