Oh. Oh. Oh. Ouch.

Second parking ticket in two days. And here, I thought I had the system beat.

I am demoralized. Perhaps unreasonably so. I feel unable to cope. How will I manage? I�m broke. I�m near lifeless. What? What? What? I do not know.

I am paralyzed by fear. This is not how I imagined my life. This is not how I imagine my life, still. What happens when my mind�s picture of me does not match up with the facts of me?

I want help. I am wont of help. I can not. My chest constricts. I feel despair tugging at me like a needy friend and everything, all of my energy, I focus on this one point. I will not go back. I�ve nothing to left to move forward with. Sometimes despair is not something to be given into�sometimes it hunts me down. Sometimes I am frightened by it�s almost corporeal presence.

God. Am I being melodramatic? Of course. Off course.

Friend Jess will be stateside in June. She�s invited me to W.V. and I�ve accepted. I�m so overwhelmed, suddenly, with the thought�what will I do with Basho? I can�t bring him. I can�t leave him. So. I think I should cancel. I should forget about seeing Jess and her sunshine warm self and keep me and my Bash safe. Away from everyone. This is how it works. This is why I get nowhere.

Please, please, please. May the gods grant me succor. Mercy. Grace. Please.

A new man has come to work here. He�s got my old desk, next to my old cataloging compatriots. I sit, now, at my new desk�a whole complex of desks, actually�nowhere near anyone else. I listen to old episodes of This American Life all day on my new computer at my new desk.

Claribel tells me they hate the new guy. They miss me. Good.

But I just watched him walk by and felt washed in pity. He�s older. He doesn�t drink coffee, tea, or alcohol. He gulps Pepsi. He loves to wear clip-on ties. He even said he loves to wear clip-on ties. He�s annoying. He talks too much and talks too slow. He just moved here three days ago, to this southern town, from Chicago. He doesn�t know anyone here except for us. How could I not pity him?