July 19, 2003
I figure that the best way to return from a long absence of writing is to just stick the first thing that comes to my head on paper. My issue of the day is that the usual place where I store that paper after I’m finished coughing out paragraph after paragraph was abandoned in a familiar place, partially caused by a preoccupied and worried mind. It has become apparent that I am easily distracted by situations that cause me even the slightest bit of emotional distress. Perhaps I need to have my gears checked out and/or replaced.
I want my journal back!
It’s hard when you’ve got portions of your soul on neat shards of dead trees. It gets even stickier when they’re left in a place far from your reach, even if you know that the binder is safe there anyway. The moral of the story is: although you have a flashlight, tell at least one person where you’re going, unless you’re a big fan of retarded games of hide and seek. Release the hounds!
I am glad that my anxieties over the academic road ahead have been toned down a few notches. Times of uncertainty have been replaced with a more comfortable path of transition. This adapted method of “casters on everything” has made pushing all this stuff around a fun chore. Moving into a dorm is not rocket science, but it will take quite a bit of adjustment before I can get the hang of the “abbreviated office.” I’m pretty much cramming the essentials of my material into a quarter (or possibly less) of the space I’m using right now. When the wheels fail, the legal boxes prevail!
My benefit is that I do not have a personalized room to slaughter and re-slaughter. I don’t have to hide it to the general public or deem it a war zone. If the area was a dining room in a previous life, all it can become is that once again…as soon as I pull out these cords. Laminate, add wheels, and Fight On!
Storage! (Another euphemism for cramming lots of stuff into an inaccessible place in such a way that you’ll probably forget what you have and eventually throw it out.) This is also known as “deferred recycling.”
The conclusion on fetishes: If it’s not being shown as streaming footage on the Internet, chances are it’s a good type of fetish. The word “fetish” just has such a negative connotation. I prefer to call these problems (to everyone except yourself) “specialized obsessions that foster pleasure and happiness.” Doesn’t that sound better? You wouldn’t call a best friend a “fetish,” would you?
If that’s the case, you’re just plain weird and probably hiding an Internet camera up your nostril with the record button on.