Kind of getting the blues. I'm beginning to worry I take photos to try and impress others, not because I like to. That I blog to see what other think not that I like to keep a diary. Everything I do I seem to be concious of what others think. I wish I could just let go, like Luke Skywalker turning off his targeting computer when attacking the death star, relying on his own instincts. Problem is my instincts aren't pretty. Porn. Cheating on girlfriend. Mindless video games. Wandering around aimlessly. I remember watching a movie years ago and there's a quote that stuck in my mind - "...there are no real New Yorkerers - everyone came from somewhere else." I wonder if there is no real me. Just someone trying to impress others.
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