Because I need my periodic Blab Sess.

If you're looking for a meaningful post, I'm not in the mood. I'm sleepy. I've been on an eating spree lately--I can't seem to be able to stop. Hostess meeting the other day at work, that went well. I get to work 6 days next week because I'm covering somebody's shift, and I'm super stoked. I know one of the girls is going to go on vacation for a bit during the summer so maybe I could pick up some extra shifts then, too. Trying to work on that skateboard design for the contest that our teacher told us about in class on Thursday. Hopefully can acquire some form of Photoshop on Tuesday. Finished Seymour, An Introduction and am rereading Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters. I need to get back into stretching. My room also needs a serious cleaning. I had Daft Punk stuck in my head during work today--yes, that's right, but don't ask why. Wondering if I need to keep myself busy-busy this summer or only moderately busy. How busy is a person supposed to be in order to not be lazy? Should I apply for the Obama internship, which requires a min. of 30 hours per week, which would probably make me go crazy? Should I find a place to volunteer at? Vegetarianism is going pretty well so far, but I haven't been doing well about cutting back on sugar. Or getting enough regular sleep. I still haven't touched a piano in a couple of months. My poor violin's been neglected since New Year's. My flip book for Design was a lot of fun to make... too bad I can't post a picture of it here. I haven't been cooking as much as normal because I'm still not fully comfortable in our kitchen. I need to give it a good cleaning, too. Oh, and the text portrait I submitted from a couple blog entries back actually got a Second Place ribbon, woooo.

I felt so lonely all day today before work for inexplicable reasons. I wasn't even able to get myself to go out for a run. I continuously delete and re-add a certain person from my AIM buddy list, and at times I feel that it's going to drive me half mad, though not as mad as it would have. I thought going to work in the Dungeon this afternoon would kind of make things worse, but after a whole Muni fiasco that made me 10 minutes late for work, I actually enjoyed my shift: had pasta for dinner, worked on the skateboard project, maintained my cool while giving driving directions to an increasingly irate woman on the phone, read the ol' Salinger, etc. etc. etc. Well, take my word for it--I did enjoy myself. Mother's Day, then Bay to Breakers, then the semester is over. I still worry over whether my life has meaning. I continuously do this, every so often focusing in on a different detail of the conundrum.

Maybe I've been feeling lonely for someone to spill my inconsequential and half-formed thoughts to. Hence... this, I guess. Is that what it means to have people who are close to you? A mutual interchange of minute details about your life that really don't amount to anything terribly important or crucial (comparatively speaking, of course), because somehow they don't bore the other person so much and theirs might actually hold some amount of interest or meaning to you when you care about the other person, as a friend or loved one? I think I've really missed that. Maybe that's what compels me to look so hard in a different direction for such sympathy. It's stirred a need for constant blogging. For sporadic email installments to a carefully-chosen email list. I crave the human interaction and conversation at work. Otherwise, it's kind of a lonely, lonely world sometimes. Because really, then, who cares?

Why am I reluctant to turn out the light and go to sleep? I have no current fear for restless nights. My bed is comfortable and my body and mind definitely crave the rest. Why, why? What am I waiting for? What am I thinking might come?




I've had this wish since I was little to be able to live someone else's life for a day. Following them around in their own body as they make choices and decisions for themselves, acting as they act, witnessing it all first-hand exactly as they see it through their own eyes. Tell me, who are you, really? Who am I, or was I, to you? I want to feel what you feel and know what you know and wonder the same things that you wonder. I want to understand. I want to breathe it.