Almost eleven at night. Another day. Another contest in which I failed to win or even place. I'm overcome with boredom. This is a mode that's grown too familiar. I get up. If I don't get a life-changing e-mail, if I don't get a life-changing phone call, if I don’t get a life-changing postal mail – the day is over. I just wait for the credits to roll. For sixteen hours.
I've taken benedryl again this evening. I risk it, though it brings me down. It will lull me to sleep. It will put a haze over tomorrow. But it's okay. I don't expect much from tomorrow. Barb is in "town," but I expect her schedule to be full. I don't expect to even catch her on the phone.
It seems like a long, long time since my schedule has been full. That was my element. How, again, did I do this to myself? And how, again, can I get a life?
Thursday, I fly to Los Angeles. I don't know what I'll do there. I say that I'm scouting for apartments, but I can't move there until the end of the year. So what am I doing? I'm filling hours. I'm guarding my sanity against solitude.
Benni called. Shaun called. Caroline called. Alli called. That should describe a banner day. In a sad way, it does. It gives me a few voices to mull over, but far too few words.
They express envy for my position. I would express the same envy, were I energized to write, were I released from this dread, were I with company.
I need to start writing again. I hate when I'm between projects. It always seems like the end of the world. But. The impossibility of my dreams hang over my head at present. I cannot spend my life this way, but I cannot get into a passing gear. I cannot get a break. Money simply drains and drains. How long can I afford to keep trying?
The things that bring me joy require unimaginable amounts of money, and many people. These two things I lack the most.