reading:
The Shelters of Stone
Jean M. Auel

listening:
Lost Songs, 95-98
David Gray

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Saturday 4 May 2002

night crawler

The last few weeks I've honestly been wondering what planet I'm on. I'm not really sure. I've gone through these periods where I just cannot get up. I have to sleep, and sleep, and sleep for something like 12 or 14 hours, at which point I wake up exhausted and go to the studio and work until it's light out. Twice I've gone out to the circle sidewalk outside Elkins Hall and watched the sun rise, and wonder if this is a step forward or backward.

I would drive home as everyone else was driving to work, and sleep another day away. This routine was strange but it gave me such comfort. I've learned the palpable difference between 1 and 3 am, and 3 and 5 am. I'm allowed to blare the music I want during the night, with only the night janitors to keep me company. I greet Elton, the day janitor, when he comes in at 6 am. I drink a lot of wine coolers (beer for girly girls) and smoke a lot of cigarettes, usually bumming them off someone else. As everyone is pulling into the little lower parking lot, I am pulling out and heading home. It's my own little private space, the night, and it's something I sorely need.

I'm so angry right now. The littlest thing sets me off, and I'm afraid of exploding in the wrong place at the wrong time to the wrong person. I said this to JoAnn last week during therapy, and then went off on a rant for the next 45 minutes. I don't even know why I'm angry. No, wait, I have an idea. I am so absolutely sure of my work for the first time in my life. I don't know if it was the Prozac, or the therapy, or just a natural progrssion, but things just clicked. Finally. I was finally understanding what I was doing. I can't explain it in any other way. And I know what I doing, and loving it, and looking for validation, feedback, from someone, anyone, and I'm not getting it. They say no man is an island, but I feel so completely far away from everyone else around me. Maybe that's what I need, to just plod on ahead alone, and figure out things for myself.

So, things almost done for this semester. I can't remember being so eager to just get the hell out of school, away from the people and this place. I feel the need to just get away from Philadelphia in general. I've had fantasies of running away to the west coast for a year or so after graduation, just to clear my head.