Goldfishing

I wanted to make the introduction of this entry look well thought out so I decided to consult Google about the animal known to have the shortest attention span.

For a moment, I expected Homo sapiens (scientific name for man) to be the answer, which I know is ridiculous because in our species, attention span is dependent on a number of factors. But anyway, the answer is goldfish whose picture is shown above. It's said to have an attention span of 3 seconds. If you go ahead and research it, you're gonna see a lot of posts from different people claiming this to be a myth. I actually tried to read and understand all the presented arguments but since this blog post isn't really going to revolve around goldfish evolution—let alone attention spans—I stopped and just started writing.

So yeah, going back to attention spans. I'm goldfishing right now.

If you're a kid, it's normal to be goldfishing simply because nobody expects you to have concentration skills. If you're a kid, everything is just so frickin' awesome that you can't just sit back and behave. You pathologically need to walk around, touch, smell and eventually break things. Everything around you is fascinating and you want to experience all of them all at once. And so, you're restless. Which is okay if you're a kid.

Goldfishing is a different story when you're 23 years old, undergoing a training whose demonstration you still have to prepare for, and dreaming of becoming the best writer ever and marrying Jason Statham.

Yeah. I'm that 23-year-old.

Yesterday, I was once again bombarded by a lot of possibilities. I met yet another writer who is currently studying medical transcription in the school I recently graduated from. I didn't really have an in depth talk with her about writing but she was able to give me ideas about finally getting published. On my way home, I felt like I scarfed down a bacon cheeseburger infused with blue meth. I was so high that I practically spent half of my travel time thinking about my debut book. It only sucked when reality rushed right back to bite me in the face. Then I realized that I still have a lot of stuff to do and about 95% of them have nothing to do with writing. Well, at least the type of writing that I want to do.

The truth is, it's not only writing I'm obsessing about. I really want to do a lot of things, a whole frickin' lot of things that I don't know where to start. The world as I see it is just full of incredible possibilities that I can't just sit back and behave. I pathologically need to walk around, touch, smell and eventually break things. Everything just fascinates me and I want to experience all of them all at once. I'm restless. Maybe I'm not 23 after all.

Okay. I just thought of a brilliant solution to my problem and I need to test it.

Gotta go.