I have lately been so abysmally bored of my job that I do believe any situation, any change, would be preferable to staying here another day. Of course that�s absolute horeshit. Ain�t no other job that would give so much personal freedom, except if I worked for myself. I got no deadlines, like I would if I were teaching. I am not forced to make idle chitchat with boring people. Au contraire! If I am forced into conversation during the day, it is usually with interesting introverted weirdos, silent warriors of library technical services the states over. I enjoy the looking at and caring of all the books. So enough with the moaning and groaning and dread. Except, my pay is crap and I�m bored bored bored.

I made a list of items to make and sell. So that�s one thing, and something I can get moving on whenever I want. I must resolve to be less lazy, less routinized. I haven�t forgotten the bookstore. I dream of the bookstore, even though I can�t figure out where that money will come from. I got terrible credit woes. Fucking student fucking loans. I hate you.

Also, it�s February. February is always always a horror.

Doesn�t quell the stagnation, the rotting feeling, the longing for some change, for some daily interest or excitement. I am all full of the ennui, full up on it.

And so what is to be done.

Well, my friends, I am bored and therefore boring. I have nothing of interest to relate. I like to walk in the woods, I like to play with the dogs, I like to talk with Jeff, I like to make and eat good food, I like to read.

Jeff and I were talking night before last about how hard it is to be around other people, how, even with folks you might like a great deal, there is always this experience of putting on a persona, of not showing your whole self. And then to be around two folks, neither of whom knows the persona you put on for the other, therein lies the greatest people pain, like a ripping of the space-time continuum, exposure to your on false selves. Except, how else is there to do it?

Even if I could find another job (which I can�t seem to do, try as I might), I somehow think there will not be another place I could be so peacefully myself.

Gah. I�m sick of being peacefully myself.

I am, also and therefore and herewith, sick of this entry. Good day.