I stopped blogging because I started questioning the reason I was doing it & the integrity, or lack thereof, behind airing your dirty laundry so publicly.  This medium is not very anonymous, even when you take great pains to make it as such.  But, I don't reckon I'd write anything here that I fancy keeping secret.  No harm, no foul.

A couple of weeks back, I ran into some professors from the university from whence I matriculated.  Ha, I like the way that reads.  Anyway, these professors, they're a husband & wife duo who I hold in the highest regard.  If ever there was an inspiration outside of the fact that I was reading Shakespeare when I should have been doing abstract algebra that points to why I changed my major, these two people are that inspiration.  Brillant minds.  I could only dream of being able to speak & write so artfully.  Anyhow, first question out of the wife's mouth was, "Are you still thinking about grad school?"  I told her that I wasn't, that my brain had atrophied beyond repair & that I didn't think I would ever be able to get it back.  She told me that it would come back to me.  I just sorta muttered, "maybe" & changed the subject.  So I went home that evening & thought about it & decided that I don't have any regrets regarding not going to graduate school although I am pretty confident that I would have succeeded had I set my mind that that was my path.  But no, I think that anything I have left to learn is to be learned outside of the cloistered walls of academia.  I still can't help but feel that I was somehow betrayed by how the world was presented to me as an undergrad.  Or perhaps, it perpetuated this ideal that I wanted to believe in that simply could not be true.

Anyhoo, I've been thinking about my exchange with them a lot lately & thinking about what I do with my leisure.  And I wonder if I am just now nothing more than a vessel for a brain wasted.

Outside of that, I suppose things are okay.  The desire for booze screams, a siren in my head.  There are things that my mind has attached to that are making me quite unsettled & that little devil on my shoulder tells me that a bottle of Jack will help me detach.  But that's not how I want to play so I busy myself with reading & writing.  I finally finished Jane Austen.  I can breathe again.  I enjoyed the book but I was ready to be done with it.  My commitment to the characters had begun to wane about 3/4ths into it.  And I bought two other books while I was down south that I am anxious to begin.  Made me all the more determined to be finished with Marianne, Elinor, Edward & Willoughby.  Rest in peace.