End of day.
The world = too big for me. The family was here for a few days. They’ve gone. Things have been wild. Things have sort-of been decided, but are also sort-of as open as ever. I worry that my co-workers and boss read my blog. I worry that someday I’ll stop blogging because of the fear that the co-workers and boss are reading.
Applied: About.com, Council on Foreign Relations, a few other things. I want to be out there, where I something that matters in a place that matters. Here I am sleeping under palm trees, always, no matter what it is I am doing. I want to touch the world, not escape from it.
I am tremendously unfulfilled and lonely and horny right now.
I miss Chicago.
I miss my girlfriend.
I miss my independence.
Life is too short. Life is too long. Life isn’t even there. I need another tattoo.
I’m not me. I’m not me these days. I’m so fucking far into being somebody else that I’m completely unrecognizable. Me = the guy that went to Chicago and sat around at The Pub having a beer and playing shuffleboard. Me = the guy that reads Proust. Me = the guy that writes books, essays, and verses. Me = the guy that takes pictures and sings/plays folk rock on guitar.
I’m not quite sure where I lost me, or where the fuck me has gone. Gotta find him before I get too old, before it’s too late to turn back.