Wandering

Sometimes I wonder why I wander. I think it is a quest for identity. I'm not very sure who I am, but what is more poignant is that I'm not really sure who I want to be. I always have a tough time making decisions, but its not because I don't want to progress, it's because I never want to close a door. This might come from the fact that when I do close a door, I tend to slam it, tie explosives to it, douse it in kerosene, light it, blow it to pieces, and then proceed to dance around the ashes in a ritual manner reminiscent of stereotypical voodoo practitioners.

I always fight between settling down somewhere and putting some kind of roots down and then uprooting everything and starting over again at least 1000 miles away. I wouldn't be who I am today if I hadn't done that so many times in my life. But that's just the point. Who am I? I don't generally attach meaning to anything. I have general ideas. I like to write. I like to read. I like puzzles and games. I like intellectualism. I like conversation. I like people. But I don't identify with any of these things. I wouldn't kill for any of them. I wouldn't die for any of them.

I wouldn't even kill or die for my name. I don't especially identify with Craig Fennelly either. I like it, it's probably the most grounding thing I have, but I am a child of detachment and meditation, I would be the same person if I were named differently. There is a being that is me, and I'm trying to find out what that is. The only issue is, I don't really want to find it, because if I ever did, I have a hunch I would become extremely bored with this world, which couldn't be further from my penchant for life.