So much clutter in this little room. So much clutter in my little head. Could use a few days just to organize it all, make some sense out of the mess. Lucidity should be seized for the rare gift that it is.

Sick. Nyquil + coffee = jittery and sluggish. Can't wait to go to work tomorrow. Ack.

Back from hiatus, for the moment. Grad school is killing me; oh, well. It's too damn cold outside, even for the first week of October. Expected to wake up and see snow. At work they want me to not exist, or expect me to be omnipresent; I'm not sure which it is. It can be quite confusing. I wonder how much I'd make as a whaler in the sea near Alaska? I wonder if the hole in the ozone layer can be traced back to the proliferation of McDonald's (tm) franchises throughout the world? Saw Chicago through a haze of beer and smoke a few weeks ago, from a rooftop, 5 a.m., amidst a philosophical discussion of personal responsibility for the fate of the world. And so on.

random thoughts...sports at midnight; wiffleball, glow in the dark golf, candlelight bowling...driving through the city on a clear night, i can see the lights from every window, the full moon smiles...at sunset, the clouds are transparent, edges glowing...walking the halls at school, a sense of urgency always; i feel like i should be wearing a siren and flashing lights...the beauitful simplicity of wood grain, the stories in the leaves and rings, i will plant a tree for every child...some days feeling lost, wondering where i'm supposed to be, is it right where i'm at or have i drifted off course?...my eyes get so tired sometimes they tingle and itch, as if the cornea were separating from the rest of my eye, yet my mind is still wide awake...i need to try harder, who knew being yourself was a full time job?

A cold front pushes in, rain, hail, thunder and lightning; energy from above in so many forms, sweeping across the ground, wind rippling through the window screen, and the hair on my arms stands on end, static and the cool breeze combining to bring my blood to life; i want to be in the clouds to watch it all, be smashed into a million droplets and come pouring down; surrender to the electricity in the air and burn up in the atmosphere, taking trees and power lines with me; the force and violence of one storm, the peace that comes after it, is enough for an entire lifetime.

What could I possibly have to say at this late hour? Yet, strangely, I do some of my best thinking when my brain should be in the "off" position.

My sleep debt finally caught up to me this week, yet now I can't sleep again. I'm not particularly amused.

Today I put pictures of my cats in frames my uncle gave me quite some time ago. Actually, I think I received the frames around the same time I last saw my cats. I miss them. Sometimes I miss my pets more than I miss certain humans. Is that bad? Or does that happen to everyone at some point?

A few gripes: I don't get paid enough. The sunlight is going away sooner. People who don't know how to drive. People who are too lazy to put their shopping carts back where they belong. Lousy presidential candidates. The stupidity of the war on drugs. Ameritech's lackluster service. Broken promises. The difficult process of losing one's gut. Chicago radio sucks.

A few bright spots: The lake on a windy day. The moon shining behind rippled clouds. French toast. The smell of freshly cut grass. People who smile as they walk past. People who take responsibility for their actions. Friends who call back. A good pun. Internet radio. Wallace and Grommit. Candles flickering in the breeze.

Identity is such a persistent yet fragile thing. People will remember you for years for something you said or did, even if it was uncharacteristic of you, while never really knowing who you really are. Some days, you don't even know yourself. You try to create your identity for fear someone else will do it for you, but it seems an impossible task sometimes. I want to be remembered for the things I did, yet I want people to forget some of those things; you can't have it both ways. And I want to know what people think of me, who they think I am, but at the same time, I don't want to know, because I have a tendency to re-shape myself into who they think I am supposed to be, and it never works.