Hobbyist

I'm going to knitting class tonight. I've become a bit of a "hobby person" lately. What with the Dungeons & Dragons, knitting, yoga, jazz singing, and most recently, late-night online gaming (if Myst: Uru Live counts as online gaming to you respectable gamers out there), I can now hold up my end of some of the most random conversations you'll ever overhear. After all, who else is going to reach out to the forgotten population of octogenarian hippie nerds? Who else, if not I?

It's probably good that I have several pastimes, because I'm one of those people who is highly susceptible to burnout. And I take my burnout seriously. When I get tired of something, I move right past disinterest and straight on into disgust. This is not something I particularly like about myself, especially since I didn't seem to inherit that free-spirited, devil-may-care personality that flaky people usually have to balance out the annoying bits.

I did meet a hobby once that I could've fallen in love with, but it got away. I was too young, then, and I didn't know what I had until it was gone. Spelunking. Isn't that a beautiful name? Except, it doesn't sound a damn thing like what it means. That always bothered me. Maybe that's what tore us apart.