It's the procrastination that does it. I'm not feeling so laidback anymore. I'm even developing a headache, of all things.

It's July now, and time is fleeting. I think we're gonna have to put a few things on hold until I get my act together. I've got a lot to take care of before the month ends. I've got a lot on my mind.

And of course the old impulse to create drama has returned with a vengeance, even in the absence of a real relationship to push against. I'm feeling incredibly off-balance and out-of-sorts right now.

I feel so strange that I almost wonder if this might be a physical thing, rather than an emotional thing. Maybe I have SARS or something. Or toxoplasma.

It's amazing how keenly one can feel emotions in dreams, especially considering that most of what happens in them is fiction.

Lust, humiliation, and anger—all pertaining to fictional events—figured heavily in this one.

To articulate where I'm at right now:

It's been a great week. And gosh I'm feeling enthusiastic. Hormones + caffeine + the warm glowing glow that comes of being around good friends +/- sharing space with thousands of novel people + the good feeling I get the day after drinking = enthusiasm.

And for all that, friends, I'm a little apprehensive. I feel adrift. This whole summer thing is great, but I mustn't forget myself entirely, neh? I fear teh vapid—while on the other hand, I also fear the loss of this wild good mood I'm in.

To do: maintain equilibrium.

"PS: IM IN UR BASE!! IM KILLING UR MANS!!!" —Mac Hall

Even though I didn't have the best time down in Columbia last weekend, I still miss it already. A lot.

I like the way the sun shines there. They've got an abundance of people my age there. And in particular, I always notice lots of tall guys there with this casual, well-mannered aesthetic. Tevas, khaki shorts, and polo shirts. It's just a Columbia thing, I've concluded.

I have such fond memories of the place. It's a shame that my emotions were so tangled up that weekend, and that the humidity and sequence of events left me irritable and unable to appreciate my time there.

It's 86 degrees outside, with 20 mph winds from the northwest and 50 percent humidity.

This is what heaven oughta feel like.

"I feel like I would like to be somewhere else doing something that matters, and I'll admit here while I sit here my mind wastes away and my doubts start to gather..."

It's terrible to realize that I'll probably never see any of those people again.

Natalie. Jason. Craig. Ben. Tony. Leeanne. Caroline. Paul. The other 110 people I knew on sight. Some were acquaintances. Some were instant friends. But regardless of what they once were to me, they're all pretty much gone now.

I mean, I still talk to a handful of them. And it's not like I'm hurting for friends—I have a lot of good ones. A multitude here at the university, some at home, and a few around the country. I've also got the younger set. But that still doesn't replace the people I spent three hot, humid weeks with in Columbia.

It's a little melodramatic, I realize, to continue caring. The unceasing torrent of life washes us onward, and there's not much I can do about that. These things happen.

Still, we connected once, and I'm afraid we never will again. And for that, friends, I am sad.

"It won't hurt her, pal, because she ain't a loser. She will feel sad and she will cry for a little while because she's not afraid to cry when something that might have been beautiful dies, but she'll get over it, she'll lift right on above it."

You know what they need to have?

A site that lets you see the sunset in any major city in the world.

I bet people would pay for something like that.

I might even pay for something like that.

Know what's cool? I constructed coherent Spanish phrases in my dream last night while telling off some woman who was trying to rob me on the front steps of my own house.

Of course, the only phrase I remember now is, "Ayudame! Ayudame!" But I know I said something significantly more complex than that.

I feel tough. I consort with the dregs of society and come out on top.

[[makes a muscle]]

Huah.

I'm frustrated, I think. I'm frustrated by the limits I've put on what I can and can't write in this chronicle. That's not because the limits themselves are a problem—they're very much necessary. The problem is that I want to write, because I need something to keep myself occupied—but because I'm unoccupied, I haven't had a train of thought worthy of recording. Such threads emerge and come clear after a long time away from the computer, time spent doing real things and thinking complicated thoughts, because then, when I sit down to write, it's a clarification of the thought processes I had going in the background the entire time. I pour it all out there after a long time spent away.

The way things are currently, I have far too much time on my hands, so I sit here and waste time until I think of something to write about, which isn't ideal. I end up writing things that are stylistically sound but lacking in content, e.g. posts about what I did that day. I'd write about my thoughts and feelings, but I haven't had any, apart from ripples across the surface of my mind.

I greatly preferred the way things were during the school year, where I was almost always doing one of three things: working at Student Life, spending time with friends, or chasing that guy around. There was none of this bothersome downtime I'm experiencing right now; on the contrary, every moment was charged and electric and exciting.

What I should do is stop blogging entirely. What I'm going to do instead is go try to keep myself occupied and away from the computer for a while.

How serendipitous is this?

A girl in my Calc. II class recommended that book to me two years ago this week.