light bulb

I understand why you did it, John.

light bulb

I understand why you did it, John.

already planning for the weekend...

gonna sit in the park
outside
weather permitting
hit up coffee joint(s)
movie(s)
read
walk Daz
football? dunno
Savannah? maybe alone. Sushi... unless I'm alone.
get brakes looked at
oil changed
trudge back to Milledgeville
or go back with my head held higher?
Let's hope the latter.

up, down, up, down, up, down, up?

I don't think anyone realizes how much I miss them.

"Though the mules plod in a steady and unflagging hypnosis, the vehicle does not seem to progress. It seems to hang suspended in the middle distance forever and forever, so infinitesimal is its progress, like a shabby bead upon the mild red string of road. So much so is this that in the watching of it the eye loses it as sight and sense drowsily merge and blend, like the road itself, with all the peaceful and monotonous changes between darkness and day, like already measured thread being wound onto a spool. So that at last, as though out of some trivial and unimportant region beyond even distance, the sound of it seems to come slow and terrific and without meaning, as though it were a ghost traveling a half mile ahead of its own shape." (Light... in August--Faulkner)

(I feel like that wagon sometimes.)

I'm still waiting for something more extraordinary to happen. I don't know if I'm waiting to move out of Milledgeville, for next semester, for tomorrow, for a person (I hope not, because if I'm waiting on someone, he/she is slow as hell), for the fall... I don't know what I'm waiting for. I'm tired of waiting. I want to do something, but what it is I have no clue. I wish I knew what I am waiting for, what I am waiting to do... I don't know anything, bah! I'm sick of feeling like I know nothing... Knowing nothing doesn't make me feel humbled, it makes me feel slightly annoyed.

Is what I'm doing here worth it all?

I find that I anticipate and get excited when I go back home. Then, when I do go back home, something always feels like it is missing. What's missing? Is what is missing what I'm waiting for? I don't actively look for it, is that the problem? Is there any end to my relentless questioning? Probably not... I just have to make myself stop questioning.

I don't expect anything to be different when I go back home. Maybe that's the problem?

How many times have I typed "I" in this damn entry?

Sometimes I think "If only ____, it'd be easy...". But then I think that nothing ever seems easy.

If it weren't for this cat, I would be so much more lonely.

I hope I don't grow up to be a creepy cat lady. I'm more of a dog person anyway.

Nothing extraordinary in this post; I'm appallingly so much like other people sometimes.

Random:

The pebble crept into his shoe. It grew to the size of a mountain, and the sweat from his foot eroded the rock, making crevices, and the crevices were filled with rivers of sweat. The rocky mountain stabbed his foot with every step. Soon, another pebble crept into his other shoe, and so began the formation process once again. Now, with every step he took, the rocks jammed into his feet. He tried his damnedest to keep his face calm. He did not want to give away the pain he felt. If it isn’t on your face, it isn’t there. He became an expert in this art; so much so that his friends were surprised he could keep up for so long. They hoped he would keep up, and he did. He kept up appearances.
------
I want to sing, laugh, lie down on a beach, fly, talk...

Oh, I had that flying dream again last night. Cliche yes, but I never had those dreams until this year. It's funny--to fly in my dream, I have to jump a couple of times to get it... like Mario. It's awesome.