Wednesday, March 11, 2009


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The lights are so bright, so bright, way too glaring against my darkness inside.

Each time a former I.O.N. resident said they liked I.O.N. better than Palm Gulfs, it was like a two-hit knife stab until I became a mangled mass that initially squirted blood that leached out later, slowly, slowly...

And then whenever someone asked me where else I'm considering, like I.O.N.? I had to say that my advisors told me to go someplace else and see the world. It was poking in the knife wound every time. I had an inferiority complex. That got worse as the day progressed. That might also explain the isolated Freudian slip I exposed shortly before dinner... "My advisors told me to go away... I mean, go somewhere else..."

As much as I might have not liked I.O.N. very much in the past, I've come to consider it as a home of sorts. And there's a Special Person I am very, very, very, very, very reluctant to be away from and it rubs salt in the wound whenever someone joked about having a >6-yr PhD.

Maybe I'm oversensitive, but it feels very real, and too raw, too fast, and I'm not sure what to do...

When I had to leave dinner early to catch my flight and waiting for my friend's ride outside the restaurant, the gallery next to it was playing some violin music on speakers. It sounded Dvorak/Liszt-like or whoever wrote Gypsy-style folk tunes, and it resonated something fundamental... for a moment I was suspended between the past and future with nowhere to go in the present...

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