You wandered down the lane and far away.

Just after midnight, I'm lying in bed in hospital-style pajamas reading my book under the covers, when clear as day, apropos of nothing, I thought, "I want to go to Atlanta." Perhaps it was the idea of writing about childhood as as starting place, something I have never entirely done -- I started writing with what happened on a given day. Sure, there are flashbacks occasionally in this story, but for the most part memories and moments are slipping through the fingers of my brain with each passing year, and I had a moment of wanting to go now, right now, to drive around and see everything.

I rarely talk to my parents. I have only a couple friends form high school I would want to see. I've not had many strong motivations to go, other perhaps than to show DYA some of my history. It just never felt like a priority, it wouldn't be worth the time and money and effort. But last night I had a very clear vision of going and why I should go. All the recent thoughts I've had about wanting a writing sabbatical were taking place in these amorphous woodsy retreats or artist colonies, but now I think my needs might be better suited elsewhere: the subconscious jungle of my hometown.

Speaking of reteating, I'm leaving town in 2 days and I have a lot to do beforehand. But I'm saving most all my reading and writing to do in San Francisco, during the little bits of alone time I'll have.

I went to sleep with gum in my mouth, and now there's gum in my hair.

It's barely the afternoon but this has been a miserable day so far: foul weather, foul mood, foul health, minor inconveniences piling up every hour. I have way too much to do, even more so now that I can't even get into the damn law library and I wasted a chance to get work down up in Evanston, but all I really want to do is take a nap and wake up and fucking start over.

I have some perspective -- I can even laugh a little at my crankiness and I understand exactly how irrational everything I'm feeling is. But strangely enough, this isn't making it go away. I still want to kick shit and throw random objects and stomp around and scowl at people. Except babies. I've seen two babies today, one on the bus and one on the train, and they were the only creatures I've smiled at. I can forgive babies.

Fuck it, I'm sleeping. What's another hour of being behind schedule if it means I won't be hating the world and all of its inhabitants? Cause really, that's where I'm at right now.