the over-long buildup to behavioural modification

one : i have a livejournal (please don't mock me) which i use embarrassingly often. i don't actually ever post or comment in any of the various communities i have joined. i can sit all day reading from communities where those who post do so to make note of some event that has happened, some emotion they needed to remember, some thought they needed to call attention to, because of its importance. because, for a second, it defined them. their reactions to such moments are the epitome of humanity, and i love to immerse myself in it, and write about every tangent these confessions lead me down. {1}

but i never reveal what i think, even in commmunities about politics, or art, or music. among those who offer up their hearts, i lurk, on the brink of social interaction. previously, i have dared not inch a toe forward. now, i am determined to leap.

two : i must renew my commitment to Buddhism, and resolidify my trust in the God who's company i seek with it. i have toiled away for eons, handmolding my Zen into perfect rigidity. now i must build upon the foundations that i have left for cobwebs, before any crumbling of those stones which buffer me from all manner of howling winds.

three : i pledge to invest myself in my own academia. for too long have i let myself just topple from platform to platform, only picking myself up from the ground long enough to toddle straight off to lower heights. if i ever indend to accomplish anything, much less make of myself value via Achievement, i need to start climbing.

four : i will write more. i cannot grow into greatness if all i have to show for myself are fleeting fancies of faerietales and other flashes of fiction. {4} i cannot allow myself to put anything off, but i must improve myself in every fashion - particularly because i assume this mantle of Writer, and Philosopher, and Artist. i can't think of a single definition for any of them which includes a pervasive and ever-present slothfulness.

five : i shall not merely listen; i shall hear.


{1} and that is what i love about the Internet.
i can be completely alone, in a city where i know not a soul, and log on and immediately feel at home. at ease. surrounded, by the like-minded, by individuals so far outside my normal sphere of influence i would never be able to encounter (much less learn from) otherwise.
{4} i fear i have already damaged my Writer Muscle; caused it to atrophy beyond any level where i can retain full use of it again. further, i often read back on slop i've written and doubt i have ever even known such a thing.