She Sells Omniscience by the Seashore

i've been toying with this demented little excercise in my head recently, as i walk to work. you see, i've so very many wee ideas, and so very many wee worries pin-wheeling around in my big, blustery noggin, that i rarely make anything out of anything and spend a lot of time spinning about like a tether ball after the recess bell sounds. the older i grow, however, the more i feel a need to pick up my sticks and try to build a little something. and what i really need to begin such an endeavor is perspective. a pair of magic specs to help me see all the sticks and know which way to bend in order to lift them. which brings me to the afore mentioned excercise. i've decided to appoint myself the omniscient narrotor of my own story. to write and think of myself in the third person as often as possible. not a judgmental narrator, mind you, but a kind and gentle guide, like those nice old british men with deep, candied voices who narrated the children's specials i grew up with.

it seems a bit batty, I know, but i really think it may be benificial to my plight. i'll fiddle with it for a spell and let you know. if all goes well, my next entry will likely begin with "she".