Dr. Zivago introduced me to a gathering of psychology people at a 2 hour talk I kept trying to understand. I'd been sitting in the corner, looking out a window and enjoying the downy hills in the backdrop and some of the old architecture. At one point a professor to my right seemed keen on knowing if I was a post-doc (someone with a Ph.D. that's still training in labs). I barely got out that I'd just gotten my B.A. that he turned his attention elsewhere. I feel very small sometimes around those people and around Dr. Zivago. I doubt myself alot. All the empowerment advice in the world doesn't help when you feel like you've just fucked up. But then, I haven't gotten a full rest any time I've been to Mt. University.

I've been worried all weekend because I left some research papers in Mom's truck. I won't be able to continue reading them until tomorrow. On friday night I thought about them, but I got distracted. I was enjoying myself and I forgot to be responsible. I hate it when I forget the truly important shit.

I also got a haircut. I don't like being vague, but really only a few people understand why that depresses me. The woman who attended me was a sweet Puerto Rican woman in her 50's. She looked over my shoulder while I flipped through magazines. I felt dulled, drawn out like rope. She was pleasant and helped me figure out a good "very short" style. I've never had hair this short before. It makes me look older. I already looked older before.

I feel old. I don't know what being old is like, but I see the problems most old people face and I deeply share them. I wake up often and feel like I'm at the end of something. Everything in my memory feels so vivid, bright water colors and such a sense of life. I replay favorite moments again and again. Every night I go to bed and think of ways I've fucked up (where I have my favorites too). The point is--all of the significant things in my memory make me feel something powerful and I wonder if I went wrong somewhere. It's the type of regret and longing that sounds contrived and pitiable to anyone but the person who feels it.

I look at my family and my old friends far away. They feel dead. I see my mother arguing with Scott, years of serials and movies passing while she tends to plants or overreacts closer to a heartache. I see Gran working for as long as she stays competent, staying in the same house where her ex-husband used to abuse her and mom, because it's familiar and comforting. Old friends feel like familiar strangers I've just met. People have changed so much.

In my mind I'm wandering through shadows, along black-lit streets that fray at the edges. Ultraviolet lichen is sprinkled out in sparse patterns, shimmering like ghosts. I keep walking, seeing candlelight flickers in the distance that form things. I feel alone wherever here is.

There are many people I know on the net, but the memory of them just fades off into a series of words. They're there, I think, but it fundamentally doesn't feel the same. I've lost the imagination to share on the net. Reaching out seems like a mental exercise. I miss the simplicity of people physically being there. I don't remember what having a friend close by feels like.

Yeah, I feel terrible and I have no good idea if I'm going to succeed at what I'm doing. I'm in doubt. Yeah, I'll bring myself up and keep trying hard, keep continuing. For now, though, leave me to my doubt. I think all people need time for those moments.

Speaking of doubt, there's a lab meeting at 8am at Mt. University on monday. It takes an hour or more to get there. I haven't tried waking up this early since high school. Bah.

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