Out there

after a longish absense, I feel like there should be some profoundness contained herein. But then, the reason I fail to write, is my need NOT to be self-indulgent and to carry on and on and on about really trivial things. So there.

Jboy is not coming to visit me. Maybe I am just diluted about my entire life. So just supose that this random person, I knew for less than I year turned penpal is not going to be my future husband and live on a mountain top with me and our beautiful children.

And just suppose that life hasn't worked out the way one suspected it once would? How about you lose respect for your chosen profession? And you start to believe in god and love and people and babies and human mediocraty instead of ideas and philosophy and thesis papers and non-committed sex and the significance of art on humanity and theatre theatre theatre. What becomes of a soul whose lost? It becomes something new. Looking for a new job.

Stumbling on the diet. Trying a new "sugar-addicts" diet. Trying every fucking day to get above myself. above each trivial moment of bordem and self-loathing and self-help and self-obsession.

Stuck. In the middle of it all. But knowing that clearity is close. Close-ish. Out there somewhere