I don't know why I haven't written much lately. By not writing I feel as though I'm missing something. I don't feel the drive to write that I once did. I can't really say why. Maybe it is that my thoughts are a little too personal anymore. Maybe my physical proximity to people who I know who read this is more than I can handle. When I lived in Eugene I didn't see or talk to these people on as much of a regular basis as I do now. Maybe it is because I'm trying to avoid my thoughts and convince myself of something that isn't true.

Stephanie and I talked on the phone the other night. She said something that stuck out in my mind; we are still too dependant on each other. I know that's true. I know she's going to read this too which just sucks. The truth is that I do feel a close connection to her still. I don't really want to but sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we got back together. It is easy for me to say that so much has happened and that it would be bad for us to do. It is harder to really believe and know it. I mean, I do know it. It would probably be a disaster if we even attempted it. I don't even know why I'm chosing to let this be an issue in my mind right now. It isn't a possibility nor should it be. But I can't say with one hundred percent sincerity that I absolutely don't want it. I guess maybe I'll always kind of want it. But I know that what one wants isn't always best. It isn't as if this is a primary thought that I have had in my mind lately, just something that hit my brain as I decided to start writing. I'm afraid to be alone for a long time. It is probably just a natural tendency to grasp at the most recent and best thing that I've had in a while as an answer.

See, this is why you shouldn't let the people you may write about know about your damn diary. I don't want this to be an issue because it really isn't.

Shifting gears a little bit. I'm going out tomorrow evening again with the Indian girl. I guess I can write her name since there are lots of Indians in the world. Her name is Manasi. She is a few years younger than me. I don't really know what is going on between us. I do know that I like talking to her and making fun of things like hippies and people who go to India to find spiritual enlightenment. She's pretty sarcastic and I like that. I'm not really expecting much of anything long term from her but I've been known to misread many situations that were more obvious than this one. I guess I'll keep you posted.

I wish I had more to write about than girls. I feel like I'm a fourteen year old girl writing names on a sheet of loose leaf paper. I always want to tell people like that to get a life. I've just realized that I am one of them. I make up for my lack of a life by obsessing over other people. Girls. What is happening to me? I am reverting to my old ways. No, maybe not. I am not really obsessing. I'm not. It is just that my job, although done with others, is a very solitary and isolating experience. I ride the bus to work and either read or listen to the radio. I work and it is either too loud to talk or I'm working alone or some other isolating factor. I get off work at a different time than most other people so I wait for the bus alone and either read or listen to the radio on the way home. I come home and watch tv. I eat, usually by myself. I check my email but there generally isn't any. I don't bother to write to others. I don't bother to write in my diary or book journal. I don't spend enough time with my cat. I'm tired. My feet are sore. My shoulders are tense. My forearms and hands ache. I don't feel like using my mind anymore. The fact that I even read blows me away. I'm reverting to my old habits. I'm still the same person, just in a different place with a different way to earn just enough money to pay the bills and go out every once in a while.

I'm lonely. I don't like sleeping alone. I don't like eating alone. I don't like doing, um, other stuff alone. But I'm doing very little to assuage my feelings of isolation.

I think I like to be sad, or at least to feel very little.