I'm good at writing on misery's tab, but it takes a long train trip to ride on the trails of euphoria. I don't even know which blog this one goes under--urban planning or personal. Let me relate the scene before it fades away. We roll out of Pasa Robles at 5pm heading north toward Salinas. Sunset slipped by under the cover of dusty hills. To the east lies shrubby, pastoral land lined with hills and a pink blue sky. It's a California beauty only viewable by train. The grape vines look maroon in this light; their dormant color blending into the ground. I'm using Nickel Creek's bluegrass to block out rude cell phone conversations and the all-to-frequent public address announcements. Reading Tom Robbins stokes my literary tinder and skews my reality a little. Noah just texted me an said, "technology's so cool". I replied "At least they haven't upgraded the train system yet," and I meant it. Now, I can't wait for high speed rail in 2018 barring war, famine, and incompetence. If it puts an end to the 12 hour trip between LA and Oakland along the coast, I'll be glad I did this trip this Thanksgiving weekend. It's more likely that the next twelve years will improve this line to the point that it's a respectable 8 hours on a new generation of fancy super liner cars. I think the scenery will keep Amtrak in business out here.

As the crepuscules fade away, I plan for the last five hours of the trips sans scenery. Dinner's booked for 6:30, and I've three books, a graduate school application or two, and many hours of German lessons to keep me busy. The beauty in the train is the opportunity to do things you love without succumbing to the normal demons that say go out and socialize or find beauty in the quotidian surrounding at home. This day is a once-in-a-long-while, and I don't have anything to prove to it.

Mid-day

What is it about a day getting old that makes us feel a little less refreshed? I do great in the morning with a little bit of coffee and a good pastry. I love going through a couple newspapers and checking my RSS feeds. Eventually, though, the afternoon happens. I slow down. Today my head even feels a little bit compressed, probably from a short bout of emergency programming. I look around the office for some inspiration. I check my notes from yesterday--some professors and university programs to research. Sigh. Is this all there is? I think back to the Seinfeld episode where Jerry and George plug their pilot for Japanese executives, who conclude that George is "unbalanced." Am I unbalanced? Obviously, but then is anyone out there balanced? Does anyone have the right amount of variation and consistency in their life to the point that they enjoy the majority of their day? Certainly. Does getting there mean taking big steps or little ones? I'm trying to go to grad school--big step. I go to every social event that I can tolerate--small steps. I will try to entertain people at my house on a regular basis--medium step, at least for me. What else is there?

Well there are books. That sounds simplistic, but it's amazing how books and movies can transform your personal world, temporarily or permanently. I guess I should categorize this under knowledge acquisition, sorry for sounding corporate. Can I accept that when I'm not being creative, exercising, or socializing, that the next best thing is knowledge absorption? What about mind-clearing walks?

Another question that pops to mind, is life to be lived as a game where you make investments in things that you think are valuable and hope that they pay off? Or can I live in a wholy different way, where I'm naturally inquisitive and expanding my horizons, without analyzing the merit of everything I do?

I'm sure when I'm old and ugly(er), I'll understand a bit of this. For now I have to keep playing a game. Too bad.

Self titled

There are two words that I use too much. The first one tries to temper everything I say. The second expresses contradiction to what has been previously spoken. I hate both of these words, so I thought I'd cement them together for the title of this blog. This blog is private at the moment, so that I can write whatever I want. I hope that I can make it public soon, so that everyone that should think I'm fascinating has ample evidence to cite.

I usually start writing when I'm sad, lonely, and lost, and I'm definitely there tonight. I masked this barren part of myself for the better part of year, pretending that I had a functioning partnership with someone other than the other side of my personality. Since I'm writing this for myself I can be melodramatic and forget that half of the Internet thinks the same thing. Well, I was wrong to hide behind the relationship but I regret not.

I am trying to figure out why I return here, to sad, lonely, and lost. Is this why Annie Dillard wrote about a creek, or was she in it for the Pulitzer? I constantly feel victimized by my environment. Running away feels exciting, but not any more satisfying than staying put and spreading out my tentacles for once last gasp of the microscopic gunk floating through the air. Part of running away is to be done with the repetition, even if I have to demote my handful of friendships to phone calls and email.

Let's say I ran off to Montreal, like I did last year. I would blow a thousand dollars a month blithely taking French classes. I would live in a residence with kids ten years my junior, or find an apartment with some hip roommates. I would enter McGill in the fall and study urban planning for two years. Everything would be different and I'd have a chance to prove that I could be too.

Let's say I stay here. I do exactly what I'm doing with minor adjustments each day. Maybe I finally apply to volunteer at Children's Hospital. Maybe I find that imperfect music group that tries to get together and jam for a few weeks. Maybe I try to do everything I can think of that makes me uncomfortable.

I don't like either of these scenarios. I like the one where I'm in a wonderful relationship and I don't have to deal with sad, lonely, and lost. I can peck at self improvement, not drown in it. I can filter with rose and buy someone flowers again. But I can't have this any more than the rust belt can give jobs to autoworkers. There's no way to match me up with what I need without the usual (1/10)^4 probability that I patiently wait to come up every year or so.

My coach suggested that I find passion in my career and not in seeking a relationship. I think it's a lot easier to be passionate about the latter and ease my way into career passion.

I don't know. I'm tired and slightly enrhumé (is there really no way to say "have a cold" in one word in English?) I'm going to close my eyes and think intently about this for one more minute, before I drift into the nonsense of my subconscious. At least I'm not stressed, but I can't figure out how to relax my mandibula. I blame the wisdom teeth.