Ramblings of a Bored Ex Snorkling Trier

Bored on a hot day in Puerto.
I just want to type it all away, but I don`t feel like I can face the pressures of a travel journal that people might actually read. So Ì`m typing here.
Toni`s leaving soon for Finland, just a day or two before I get back to the US, so i won`t get to talk to her on the Phone. Why did I capitalize phone? I`m leaving it, so you can get a little taste of how things are in my head. Woo hoo!

James and I tried to snorkle today, and it went terribly. I woke up with the feeling that it was going to work out terribly, and I didn`t want to go, but I ignored my feelings. So it was terrible. I don`t like snorkling. It sucks. I just like to be in the water, no crazy or fancy contraptions attached. Just me.
When will I ever be happy where I am? Will I ever be in the "right" place?
I just keep finding myself feeling eager to get home, to get started what I "need to be doing". But I know that when I get there I`ll only be eager to get to some other "right" place where I can do what I "need to be doing." When am i doning what I need to be doing? I`m always forgetting that I always am. It`s so had to be in the moment.
I suppose that`s the allure of weed. On some occasions, no matter how few and far between, you can get that feeling of total absorption in the moment, in whatever your doing. Usually I just feel paranoid, but I keep on truckin` none the less, looking for those ephemeral moments, tose slippery moments, of actually being present in my own life. I guess that`s the allure of drugs in general. Your mind becomes sharpened to a single point through which you can look at something. Not sharp in the normal meaning of the world. I would hardly call any stoner who can`t remember what they said 3 seconds ago, sharp.
But I have been there. I have made things, I have heard music, I have had sex, I have played games. And I was there, entirely, for each.
Always "chasing that dragon" as it were.
Whatever. I don`t want to type about drugs anymore. I don`t even want to think about them.
I just want to stop thinking about the future. Skimming over the now, I know there is so much that I`m not absorbing. At this rate, I will neve fill up this sponge. I will be constantly be thinking of and seeking the next bucket of water, when I always have a full one right in front of me. I will let my hand dangle over the edge of it, absent mindedly dipping the tiniest corner of my sponge in, as I day dream of the right bucket, that will fill my sponge the way it "needs to be", until water runs in streams down the side of the hand that holds it, after just one good submersion.
Talk about a run on sentence.
That`s the thing about writing. While I may not be accutely aware of everything around me, I am totally in the moment of what I`m writing. I`m thinking of nothing else. I am there. And who`s to define what`s appropriately " in the moment" for anyone else? Not you. Not even Buddha.
I guess it`s things that you can become lost in. That you can lose yourself in. If you are absorbed, it`s a kind of meditation. Your thoughts are gone, your ego, well I don`t know where the hell it is. Any thing that can do that for you. Except TV, and as much as I love them, books. They are just replacement realities, gossips, things of that sort, to involved.
It hurts me to say that about books. It really does.
I am a hopeless book addict, and I never hope to recover. I love to read. I love language, and I love to just let my self imagine someone elses world. And I learn new words.
But I don`t need to try and convince anyone of why reading is good. Everyone thinks it`s so good to do anyhow. Everyone "wishes they had more time to read", feels guilty because they don`t like it, because they spend more time watching TV. Reading, to a lot of people, is a sign of intelligence. But people don`t make the connection. Movies and books are just different degrees of the same things.
Escapism.
Reading is overglorified in our culture. But also it`s not.
A love of reading indicates, alot of times, a love of learning, a certain precociousness, and I suppose that does say something about intelligence. But wasn`t Einstein dyslexic? I doubt he loved to read. But no one denies his intelligence.
I`m sure it goes back to the beginning of the written word. Used to be that no one could read, except the educated, such ad priests and nobility. No wonder it`s still glorified so much. People who don`t read, maybe, somewhere deep in their psyche, relate themselves to the peasants, to the uneducated.
My uncle, for example, can`t spell "I`m", but he can build an entire house out of his head, no blueprints; he can rebuild old cars completely, improving them along the way, he can even do calculus. I`m not even sure if I just spelled calculus right.
So in a nut shell, people are all stupid.
I just got to rambling. I said I wanted to type.
But my internet time is up in 3 mintues, so I have to be done.
Peace out.