Somewhere between the reading I need to do on the Enlightenment in England next week and the script I need to be studying for a play I’m in, somewhere before the obligatory perusal of Darwin’s writings for my orals and somewhere after my home workout session to get back in shape for the rowing crew, I have at last found time to write again. I’m sure there’s something I’m forgetting about, and I’ll bang my head against the desk in frustration that I spent time on here instead of getting it done, but for now I’ll clack away.
I am busy. I’m busy in such a way that I haven’t been since I was attending UT-Austin, and this is a good thing, although it’s currently so bad that I’m concerned about finding time to use the restroom. One of my contacts from the summer called me yesterday and was surprised that I couldn’t give him a good time to have an hour-long conversation with him on the phone. My life, I said, is currently an avalanche of maybes and possibilities. I’ve needed this. I’m unfortunately one of those people who drift off into a little dreamworld if I allow myself too much free time and I get nothing done instead of getting a world of things done.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, or at least close to it, my mother called me tonight and told me how she and my dad are going to visit my half brother at his new home in Marble Falls. She told me as she drove along that she was passing by the beautiful hills near Llano, describing them in detail that is admittedly rare for her, and for a moment, I felt homesick, and I yearned for the creak of saddle leather, the smell of cedar, and the strange comfort of wearing my beat-up cowboy hat without feeling awkward or out of place.
Sometimes I wish I could be like everyone else, and not the strange combination of different lifestyles, travels, and experiences I have grown to be. It’s not that I dislike myself; it’s that it’s so difficult to find someone like me.
This wasn’t too coherent, was it? C’est la vie, n’est-ce pas?