Friday, February 24, 2006

I got sh*t

I think I am going to regret this:
  • Red-eye on a Thursday night to get to Newark at 7 am on Friday morning. Nothing like the smell of refineries and car exhaust first thing in the morning.
  • Returning home on Sunday, when Monday is a holiday. The good: flights will not be insane, and I'll have a day to relax. The bad: certain people in NJ are going to have my a$$. Let's just hope they don't find out I was in the area in January, or I may never live to hear the end of it.

Something I will not regret? Going to NJ to see B walk down the aisle. I have become exceedingly lax about attending weddings over the last few years, but this is not one I would even consider missing. I think I might have crashed it were I not invited. Actually, I might be crashing it for all I know.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately for you), I have a block at the moment, and just cannot write anything worthwhile. I have thought long and hard about it, and have surmised the following root causes:
    Problem #1: My inability to FTLOG (TM Abhi) quit my job is paralyzing my brain from writing coherently.

    Problem #2: I need to read at least three journal articles this weekend, because I have lost touch with the thing I adore most, and that has contributed to an exacerbated effect of Problem #1.

    Problem #3: An overwhelming feeling of late is making me want to shut myself in my apartment and turn off the telephone. This one is probably the least easy to make sense of in any meaningful way. I do not know why I sometimes feel like people are trying to swallow me whole, or why it causes me to recoil into a cocoon. I suppose it is a whole lot of self-possession. W once accused me of being afraid to be known. This from the person who knows me best is certainly damning. This problem is really causing my brain to bend and twist, and come up with very few solutions. Do I blog for the beautiful anonymity of it all, or do I blog to really be known and understood? And what does blogging have to do with the problem, anyway?

Prognosis: negative. But since I do not have time for psychotherapy, I'm prescribing myself a Sunday, a vodka tonic, a little baking, and a lot of reading. That should make me more comfortable during the inevitable decline.

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