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2005-11-18 - 1:19 a.m.

I helped my brother on his construction job today. I don't have any real skills in that area, but I can move heavy stuff. I had to carry about fifteen ninety-pound packets of shingles up three flights of stairs, and then take some of them up a ladder through a tiny hole onto the roof. That last bit was legitimately scary, and there were all these construction type dudes standing around, so I didn't want to fuck up and look like a moron. I'm still alive and stuff, so I guess its all okay. roofing is not really my calling though. Last night I helped my boss with computer stuff. I at least know enough about that to look like an expert to people who don't know as much. Again though, not my calling. What's a calling anyway? Sounds suspiciously religious to me. I guess theres no one thing I'm supposed to do. There's not a lot I want to do either, honestly. I don't think I'd make a good professional writer. Too much ego, I wouldn't like other people picking at my stuff. A fault, maybe. I wouldn't make a good soldier. Too much shooting, not enough good old fashioned stabbing. And theres the whole seething resentment for authority thing. No, I guess I don't have a real calling. All I can do is aim for constant self improvement, and try to keep myself happy and entertained.

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