I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. —Hamlet
I need to escape.
Perhaps my petulant behavior the last few days (or maybe the last few weeks) has roots in my inherent restlessness and independence. Some people may find comfort in grinding routine dictated by others, but I chafe beneath these rules. I find that I don’t like being an underling. I’m squashed beneath the daily, hammered relentlessly with someone else’s vision.
My summer job is slowly choking me.
I listened to someone waxing lyrical about his vacation to Eastern Europe. I overheard a telephone conversation where one guy was standing on an Italian terrace, watching an oncoming thunderstorm. And I think, those sound like nice places to escape to. But I don’t really care where so long as I’m away.
However at the end of the day, in the midst of wondering if I’ll be lucky to get even six hours of sleep, I console myself with the mantra: Soon, soon.
London Calling. I have a sudden urge now to dig up the journal I kept while visiting France.
Quantum Meat. A very readable science column.