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<<2005-05-09 - 9:07 p.m.>> That all sounded a little bleak, I suppose. What I mean is that I cannot deal with the overanxiousness of the library anymore. Or with the exhaustion of finals week (this raised bar will be the death of me). Or my own plain-&-simple desire to be home with people who will cuddle me and roll their eyes at me all at once, which clouds things over like the overcast sky. I cannot deal with one more trumped-up crisis. It is not a grand opera that we are living on Woodstock Boulevard, with glory and despair. It is very simple: this is my life; it is complicated; I am anxious; I like the world very much and enjoy living in it; I miss home & friends & occupied bed; I will look you in the face and say this and not be lying to you or myself. I am so tired of having to untangle. (And it isn't my job anymore, anyway, so watch me get on a plane without saying goodbye.)I don't know whether to credit this to the influence of my low-drama relationship with a Genuine Straightforward Self-Sufficient Grown-Up or simply to my own progression. << - >> |