my dinner is still "pending" in the kitchen. i had an unpleasant late night dream about work last night; i semi-woke to find myself in a strange tense sleeping position. i know it was the immediate product of some lousy pent-up fear and anxiety from the day.
i randomly flirted (again) with the idea of shutting down this space some day, but in_transit's been around since, what, 2002 (almost 7 years now), and it's a cache of all my (recorded) memories, private and public. but i feel that, these days, the things i write, the style in which i write, tend to be more... chop-chop, impatient, matter-of-fact, as if for mere updating purposes. or maybe, i just end up sounding... like, numb.
crazy nights hardly ever happen anymore... well, at least, crazy nights don't happen anymore with me seated in front of the personal comp at home. crazy nights don't even have much chance of occurring anymore. well, i can't say i miss the crazy nights of the deep dark. but still... it feels a little... "un-me". strange.
you fill me with some wonder, sometimes, how you keep me neatly in your palm the way you say you do. is this a conscious calculated strategy? how strange. is it the concessions i make for you, or are you really that skilled that the leash does not chafe around my neck? how could i play so easily into it? so you're the one who's batting me like guybrush's game of batting the cockroach. and i thought i was doing that to someone else, hah!
life is series of self-discovery. it's great to have a fellow explorer.