In an ongoing conversation with myself about how to deal with life and time, I realized that last year, in quiet little Bridgeport, I felt that the days were far too long; now, in the big and busy new york city, they're far too short. my need for private space, i realize, is manifested in how i view the world around me - see the last entry as my moment of finding time, space, and quiet in a city that hides that all very well. In fact, it does more than hide it; sometimes it convinces me that it's not there.

In a state of perpetual vagabondery I seek to create routines; routines become overwhelming and I seek to break them. I feel as though I'm filling up my days, which perhaps should come as no surprise as the days shorten into December. I can chose between being bored and being tired, but boredom is tiresome and fatigue is wearying anyway.

And so the need for vacation, or spring, or both all at once, presents itself again.