2003-03-07 12:42 a.m.
Actual time this was written: 8:27 PM

I have just emerged from possibly the longest, hottest shower I have ever experienced. I am hardboiled, ready to eat! My yolk (mystical central ball of yellow light?) is warm, delicious.

Whilst stewing, I pondered this:

Over the past year or so, I have retreated further and further into intense introversion. Well, at least become very aware that I have; tonight, painfully aware. I've been content to idle all day in the apartment, not shower and just wear my favorite dirty, battered, old, grey sweater, write, play video games, think internal and unshared thoughts, basically "lead a passive existence without exertion of body or (much) mind". The prospect of transforming into a recluse of Salingeresque proportions sounded, as of late, like an ideal goal. Peaceful.

Yet this is the same girl whose eyes just welled up upon looking at photos of Venice. The same girl willing to scratch all of the above after reading "You have to stand up and live before you can sit down and write".*

Goddamn, I hate my twenties.

*http://members.diaryland.com/edit/profile.phtml?user=jonathan

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