Long night last night. Mostly me, fretting about not-quite-so-much in retrospect. i always secretly wish I could be indulged more when I feel that way. And by that way I mean so unloved. It's just an extention of lonliless, and I feel that keenly in this rainy place. i just spent more time alone than I imagined. And it's not like I don't have enough to do. I can surely keep myself busy, between Fichte and Derrida and understand the policy decision of the Cold War, amongst other things. I just don't like this kind of busyness. I feel like there must be something interesting in the world I could be doing (yes, this is the wrong time for me to have a crisis of education). But there clearly is not. I spent all last semester "in the world" and what did I do with myself? Got into trouble and couldn't hold a job. And I lived in New Jersey. Granted, I now make a mean tofu scramble...but really.

Next summer, maybe I can "do" something. I'm applying for that internship, and I have high hopes about living in NYC. Maybe even by myself, the thought of that is frightening and part of the reason I feel so needy-for-james-love lately. But would I be satisfied then? Maybe the secret is keeping one's self so busy that there's never time to ask that question. Maybe not.