I'm a bit nervous, that's all. Sometimes when I say a bit, I mean a lot. This week won't be bad. It's a short one. From Thursday on might be tough. Yeah, nervous. In about five different directions.

I need a cabin that I can run away to when I want to be alone. I need to learn that it can be as important to keep my fingers still as it is to keep my mouth shut, at times. I should be a better person. If I know the things that I don't like about myself, why can't I eliminate them and be exactly who I want to be?

I have to finish the projects I've started. Projects started both inside and outside of my head. I still can't find my library card. It's been too long. It's time to stop looking and just get a new one. I already know which book I'll take out first. I want to watch Winged Migration, but I want to watch it with the right person. How do I determine something as nonsensical as that?

Maybe if I started running I would sleep better. Maybe it would help to admit that I get a weird satisfaction out of getting through my life with so little sleep. It's childish, at best. I'm not sure what it is at worst.

Sometimes I love the Sunday paper so much I'd like to marry it. Sometimes I can't help smiling at the radio when I particularly love what the voice coming out of it is saying. I want to like the new guy on This Old House, but I think it's going to take a while for him to grow on me. And my crush on Jason Bateman, I'm afraid, will accompany me to the grave.

I want things to be simple. Things usually start out simply, but almost never stay that way. It's often my own doing. This is who I am, with a bit of someone better and a bit of someone worse mixed in. Rather unevenly mixed in. Just hold my hand and tell me it will be okay, okay?

I don't know. I just don't.