I have a $400 Gary Fisher hybrid bike in my garage. It's really great. It sits there, taunting the garage door all day long in an on-going staring contest. The bike always wins. Invariably I come home in the afternoon, push the button and play Frogger as I attempt to cross my busy street while the garage door leaps to a senseless defeat. And that ends the day for my Tiburon. In truth, the wheels on my gas grill see more mileage than my bike does.
But I had great intentions when I bought it. You see, the theory works like this. I don't do something. I decide I want to do that something. I buy expensive pieces of equipment that can be used to do said something. I rest assured, knowing that because I dropped so much money on this something that I will in fact do it. Otherwise, I'll be an idiot.
So here I am. Resting assured. Resting assured that I am an idiot.
I wish I could say the bike fiasco was an isolated incident. I wish I could say that I play my $3600 bass a lot. I wish I could say that I regularly dominate my friends in paintball. I wish... well, I think you get the point.
I obviously haven't. So here I sit tip tip typing away on my brand new Apple keyboard. Here I sit resting assured that now that I'm typing on the beautiful piece of QWERTYUtopia, I'll be writing every day, working on a new blog, forging away on my new never-to-be released novel, even freelancing for the local paper.
Secretly I know the truth, sense the futility of every keystroke. It's all wasted effort. Delaying the inevitable–byte by byte.
Then again... this keyboard is luscious.