11:57 a.m. - January 15, 2004
When I write things like that I feel thoroughly stupid and immature to admit being (occasionally) afraid of the dark. At the end of this lifetime, perhaps Iíll have chanced upon something for which I donít feel stupid or immature.
Off to work and it is a last-minute cancellation so I have a paid day off to do anything at all, and I go home after chatting a bit with an acquaintance who often accuses me of being a (straight) homophobe because I donít favor gay marriage. Either I wanted to linger around people or I like talking with him; the jury is out.
And now I am home listening to loud classical music and wondering what to do. There is nothing to be cleaned or washed or written because I did all that last night. I am desperate to occupy my time, put the brain on autopilot, one foot in front of the other, does it matter where I go as long as Iím doing something?
If I had a tail I would chase it.