Behind the psych. building is a large iron stairwell, on occasion bending in perpendicular angles to a large square parallel to the second floor. There's a rungway leading up to the roof but I've never tried it. I stood there this morning, talking to myself for 20 minutes, pondering. And y'know, I came to an important conclusion:

I have no idea what the hell I'm doing or will be doing.

I thought I had this future plans thing licked. Usual pathway of intellectuals, right? 6 more years of mental masturbation, a certificate proudly showing my ability, then a stint at God only knows where so I can make almost as much as master plumbers. You know, the respectable, divorced from reality life.

Only the more I think about it, the more I get this feeling like I want to do it because it's there. I have the training, the experience...but it seems...it just doesn't grab me like your semi-ideal job should. I've planned this out for years, sacrificed potentially meaningful relationships for it (like my pillow and my head). So I have the credentials...but then what do I do if I wanna do something else? How marketable is experience in training rats and cutting up brains? I mean there's being a lawyer, yeah, but courtrooms make me ill.

As the wind blew past I turned my head up to the rustling. Above me was a small green canopy, lightly accented by the blue lamplight below and off to the side. Looking up I remembered and am still recalling all the moments I saw trees and leaves like that. Odd as it sounds they're all wonderful times, times I'd completely forgotten about. I have no idea what's in a set of rustling leaves, but whatever it is feels right. And then I think again and just say I'll be ok like I usually am.

I don't know about it...but at least I don't need to know right now.

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