Time I woke up this morning: 7:51
Time I am supposed to be at work: 8:00
Time I arrived at work: 8:10

I think I did pretty damned good there. I even ironed my shirt. And washed my face and took Basho outside (that�s where I finished getting dressed, in fact�hopefully no one was looking) and brushed my teeth and brought all my important things that I had to bring with me to work. I did not brush my hair. But that�s because I�m punk rock.

I went to the lake last night and then I came home and actually looked at my papers and things and discovered I am not in the midst of disaster, not at all. I�m doing just fine.

The lake at dusk with the bare trees and the orange gloopy sun and the sky all shades of blue, each distinct, but also that wed and bled and loved each other color. I have been waiting long and long for last night�s beauty and solitude and kindness and long have I waited to turn that one bend on the trail where I see, so suddenly it about knocks me down, the whole lake with the setting sun rippling over its surface and Bash dipping into the cold water down the trail far from me, he could be wild that far from me, and he is beautiful and I am devastated by how the open the world is, how full of joy, how a leave-taking is coming up and how, oh how, will I go?

What am I going to do? When? Where? What? I�m going to quit my job? I hate thinking practically. I hate it. I hate that Sue wrote me this in her email: �Somegirlfromcollege lives in CO and she is having a hell of a time finding a job there. Do you have one lined up? It sounds like things are worse in CO than just about anywhere else -- really, I'm not just saying that to keep you on the East coast.� And my mom and my dad and Blythe and just PEOPLE keep saying these things to me and I wonder if I should be more worried than I am about finding a job. Don�t tell me if I should be. I don�t really want to know. Tell me how easy it is to find work, especially my kind of work (library work, technical services work) because that, my friends, is what I want to hear.

You know what I should do? I should move to D.C. I�m freaking out, aren�t I. Yep. But I should move to D.C. because I have friends there and I bet I could find a job there no problem and I could drive here to see this place I love, I could drive here and back in one day, and mi familia would still be close at hand. Yep. And I like D.C. I would have to live outside of the city, wouldn�t I? Because of Basho and Harold and Miss Blue. And also I doubt I could afford it. And Bash would be left alone too much, maybe. Shit.

I don�t know. I feel panicked. I feel trapped. I feel like I ain�t got no place to go. I worry that I�ll do something stupid, something I will regret, because of the worry and panic.

It was all so clear before. Damn.

I�m going on break.

Back from break, still without clarity. Ah well. It�s a another pretty day and maybe that�s all I need to know. Maybe I will just spend the next month living these pretty days and give the poor future a break. Let the future be alone for a while, stop bugging her, let her unfold and relax and whisper her secrets to me one at a time. In April I will decide.