I want to puke. Or cry. Both. I biked home from school in the dark, cold wet drops sticking to skin and coat, all of me ready to break free on the pavement. The usual complaints. No research question. Source material all too daunting, requiring talents the dearth of which have haunted me since youth. Too associative and free-ranging a mind, to compel into academic disciplinary structures.
Aside from school, I am happy. The future beckons with its strange, emerging form. I've eaten the pomegranate seed. Chased the golden apple. Wound another thread into the tapestry. I'll risk the dark path into the underworld, the stranger with his eye on my crown, the sharpening details of the story. Even if it requires the surrender of some intentions.
Anyways, I must tell myself this everyday: stay attentive. Feed yourself and your friends. Keep reading and writing.