i am in an ambivalent place. am i really? or am i just straddling two different realms and not truly becoming ambivalent but just hurting in the process? maybe it's because i have been home every single day this week and am getting stir crazy or maybe i have just taken this time to legitimately think about what i want. either way, no matter the motivation, i haven't come up with an answer; thus this ramble. it's not selfish to dispose of everything toxic in your life, i have always maintained that, but at what point does this removal of waste become the removal of everything you have known for so long? it feels like i am eighteen or nineteen again but i am less emotionally charged about it all. i am fickle to a fault. i am nostalgic about the things i will lose or have already lost, i suppose, and it makes me wonder if i made the right choice. i know in my heart i did but the waiting around and still having a connection to it is what pulls me back into myself, doubting what i did. i don't like doubting my choices. i don't like it one bit. i look forward to september, if that is even a possibility, or maybe the end of the summer and escaping to europe for a few weeks; maybe not coming back at all. it's a nice thought but an incredibly foolish one, i know. i am impatient and this prevents me from doing the "nice" gesture of waiting until the end for a clean break. this isn't messy per say but it feels catty. it feels immature and ridiculous. i haven't the stomach for it. i am done. take that last statement with a grain of salt because we just might be back here in another few months.

it's my mom's birthday today. she is fifty-one and has a zit on her chin. i said it was a nice, youthful birthday surprise. she doesn't look fifty-one. i think she will be in her forties in my mind forever. even when her skin starts to fade and become transparent, she will be forty-two. when blue rings encircle her eyes and she can barely keep those lids open, she will be forty-six. she will live to be one hundred but won't look a day over forty-nine. it is also one of my greatest friend's birthday party tonight. it too will be a show. today seems like such a write-off when it comes to work. all the things i wanted to accomplish this week have been either half-done or three-quarters done. i still have tomorrow, don't i? i work well under pressure anyway. this is why i should be a journalist. deadlines. yesterday someone told me that the only thing you can do with a university degree is teach or work at toyota. i will write. and maybe, somewhere down the cobbled road, own a bookstore. my dreams hang so carefully in the balance of this millenia and i fear my old soul is not right for it. not right indeed.