Lost in Cambridge

I think I need a place to speak. I'm not sure about what. I need to keep writing something. I had the realization the other day that I hadn't written a piece of fiction in at least a year. That sort of thing has just ceased to be a part of my life. I'm becoming more and more of a kaishain in life than anything else; I spend from 7:30 am until 7:00 pm dealing with my work life as an employee. I have four hours to myself at night.

Even that time is being usurped; Tuesday nights are now game development night. Wednesday it's cards. Thursday it's Japanese. What do I do anymore? I'm ceasing to be more than the sum of the activities my environment imposes upon me.

There was a time when I wrote down my thoughts on life. On politics. On technology. On everything. There was a time when I encapsulated all that into little worlds, one at a time. There was a time when I enjoyed screwing with language just to see if I could. There was a time when I wrote just to write.

There was a time when I had things to say. I seem to have lost them, though, somewhere between home and Cambridge.

Maybe it's time to draw a map.