9:43 p.m. - July 17, 2002
Uneventful, unoriginal, unnoteworthy day
Already the seventeenth, the meridian has passed and a gentle downward slope to completion lies ahead. I wouldn't mind another several months of this at all, especially now that I'm used to the humidity. Meeting with the dean went well--I admire and respect this woman immensely and feel my brain expanding after each encounter--and it is certain: I am her pet. I'm glad she hasn't seen me do the stormy-weather-walking-on-choppy-dark-water routine yet. Today's meeting was all about me staying permanently and it is certainly trite to admit as much, but it made me feel good, really good, to have this woman I admire tell another colleague how much she enjoys me, my skills, everything. I blush easily and she finds that endearing as well. I gave up and accepted the compliments.
Will I stay? No, I won't. I will return next summer hoping for a reprise, but I don't want to stay permanently. It's like chocolate--too much of a good thing [damn the cliche]--fucks up my head. Can't have too much fun or grow too attached, that's the motto. But I do love my office and its view, so I'll have to take a few snapshots and bring them home with me.
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I don't know how to talk about my counselor without resorting to My counselor says and My counselor thinks because I'd like to think I'm more than cellular matter and can be proactive and undergo profound epiphanies, but that's not the case. So fuck it. My counselor says my sleep problems are caused by the subconscious dealing with the things my conscious mind won't, the things I'm supposed to be doing but don't, and it can only get worse before it gets better unless I get off my ass and start talking about it.
And online journaling doesn't count.
I'm going to end up one of those drunks in a bar who talks your ear off about nothing and makes you feel sorry for him so you give him cab fare, but he drops it in the gutter and doesn't realize it's gone.
Tonight's reading is Shakespeare. The Tempest. My favorite.
