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8:51 p.m. - February 09, 2003
Bless me, for I'm soon to sneeze
Iím going somewhere Ė undecided Ė not this coming weekend but the weekend after and Iím thinking the Northern California coast, not the redwoods but the coastline, Mendocino, further up. Iím looking tonight to rent a beachfront cottage and I think itís extravagant, a waste, to rent a place in which to think when I can do the same Ė and do Ė right here. But itís typical, I go on a (brief) road trip when Iím confused and angry and slightly afraid (afraid of what, just tell me, just tell me), and only the weekend because of course Iím responsible and there is work to be done, I couldnít drive off into the sunset and leave my cares behind permanently, but I can do so both intermittently and with abridged expressions of fleeing the cage, get a taste, not indulge. Itís the act of driving that carries the most appeal, not the destination, as if being behind the wheel is like riding the crest before the event horizon, before something happens, before thereís time to reflect and think I donít have time to be doing this.

Iím tired of feeling in a constant state of slipping (slippage?) when everything is indeed right-set and itís me whoís walking funny. Tonight there was a moment when my sister, the Great Idiot, and myself went to the grocery store (sister cooked dinner) and the Great Idiot made straight for the cereal isle and I put my arm out to stop him and said No, always begin at the left and he looked at me and said No matter what your sister says, youíre crazy. Donít children and idiots see past the obscure and call things for what they are? I donít know whatís going on, Iím feeling disenfranchised from myself. Sister held up bottles of salad dressing Which do you like best? as if I were a child or a simpleton or both and I thought Have I been medicated and donít know it, or am I always like this? But recall, my self-medicating takes the form of school and projects and books and thatís dandy as ever; my paper due tomorrow is perfect and I am satisfied and I will aptly demonstrate that I can hold my own in literature as well as linguistics and cognitive science and I will not yawn while doing so. A vague remembrance of conceit and confidence, there, but it belies the worry that I will be outdone by my peers and someone Ė two, three, four Ė will think Why the hell is this dufus amongst us? and the query will be justly pondered. I donít want to shine, I want to illuminate, but often I feel I expend everything like the supernovae, a poof! of brilliance and fading glory afterwards.

Damn. I need outside validation too much.

I worry Iíll never achieve contentment and the worry tires me more than the pressing on without a map and zero clue of where to place my feet.

Erratic sleep again.

 

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