Anais Nin: You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken.


Without...but I guess I'm blessed for now.

I'm sitting here teeming with a now dissapated anger and frustration. With an overwhelmingly obsessive need to change the situations in my life.

No. I haven't been angry for the past couple of days but I've sure as hell been trying to escape shit that can't be escaped. I've been trying to evade something i haven't been able to put my finger on. Perhaps it's my imagination, but I'm better off thinking that it's worse than it is.

The situations are all different.

My work circumstance: feeling like I'm slowly falling. It feels like when you have to pee really really bad, but you're so far from the toilet, you think you're going to die before you sit down.

School: I can understand the fact that everyone at some point or another hates school or they may question their wanting to keep their major, but that eventually fades. I really have never liked my major. I've never expressed any want or need to stay in journalism. I've always wanted to be an be happy with a career that satisfies me, one that makes ends meet and often overlap. I am an artist at heart. Being in journalism sounds like something that is destined to keep me tired and stressed and unhappy, simply because that is what it does now. Besides, why should I settle? We were not made to settle. AND I probably won't be able to find a job as a journalist anyhow.

Home: I want to move. PERIOD. END OF STORY. Did I mention the fact that I have no sanctuary? This is a problem for me. All of these other issues would be easier to manage if I had a sanctuary. A place to bunker down in. A place for my soul to rest. Until I find one. It will feel like i'm being kept near a shroud or something as dramatic..