3:10 a.m. - February 20, 2003
If I didn't have this journal I think I would talk to no one and that is a frightening notion
I was lonely and called out, chatted for a while, and laughed some; and later the telephone rang and people called in and I thought how fine and dandy, the beacon worked tonight and it was a comfort. But there is no ring in or out at 2 a.m. and who do you call to keep away the things that come in the night, crawling under the covers with you? So I get up and study Vygotsky and Saussurean theory and after an hour make little headway so now I'm looking out the window and the only light is from the streetlamp, dim amber, that is to the east and can be seen when it is dark out and this lamp is not comforting. And what comforting do I want I do not know, an elusive teasing glimpse, like walking outside and smelling the scent of baking and realizing you've been drawn by the desire for a cinnamon roll that you didn't know you wanted. Bathsheba writes with irritation about my use of some day, one day, the future, and asks why don't I see today isn't built on the vagaries of I will and I do not know how to tell her that it is a way for me to remain positive when the resources are emptied and the credit line is coming closer to an end. Some day I won't be jumpy and will have normal sleep patterns and won't be afraid of the dark in my own home and I'll reach out and take what is there to be had.
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