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breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Well, well, well.

I need to meet some people. I have been spending far too long in relative isolation--it's gonna kill me before much longer.

So!

If you're local and want to get together for coffee, dinner, whatever--send me an e-mail, tell me when's good for you, don't be shy! I can't hack much more solitude or I'm gonna freak out, turn tail, and run all the way back to North Carolina, and that would be a real waste. *grin*

I'm at ursulav (at) metalandmagic.com -- drop a line, O Bay Area-ites!

breeden
ursulav

Waterloo

The problem with being strong all the time is that you never learn the end of your strength.

Until you drive into it.

Doing sixty.

It was interesting. I felt it go. My internal narrator folded her arms, leaned against the wall, and said quietly, to no one in particular, "And there...right there...is the moment where I lost my shit."

I did it quietly, in the apartment. I didn't go climbing any clock towers or driving off bridges. I think, however, that I cannot do this out here. This doesn't feel like a passing panic. I am an old hand at passing panic--I've been passing it for quite awhile. This is me being done.

I'm gonna take a week and do tourist stuff, I think. And then, if I have not made some kind of miraculous saving throw on my sanity check, I think I may haul off and go back to Raleigh. It's a little embarassing--it smells like failure--but  I have reached my limit--this is too much, too soon, too huge, too far afield. God help me, I am as tough as they come, but I just don't think I can do this now.

It's been the longest year of my life, and very nearly the worst. And I kept on going, and I kept being strong. And I kept throwing myself into things, because I thought that strength was inexhaustible.

Guess not.

Live and learn, huh?