Dad is giggling uncontrollably down-stairs to Seinfeld.  I was earlier,  but I can only laugh by myself for some reason.  Not much happened this week.  I got a speeding ticket, my brother was a shit show all week, and finally, today, Sunday, Grammie told us about her mission in Cambodia with chopsticks in her hair, while we ate Thai food.  She was telling us how Mormonism and Buddha[ism] were the same.  She has so much love for people in general that it looked like there was pain in her foggy Swedish eyes.  I drove home with my sister and her husband while her children cried and punched, and she sang Disney songs supposedly for my benefit.  The heater was cranked high in the hopes that it would put the little devils to sleep, and I had to look at my third eye to keep from freaking out.

I’ve got all sorts of plans tugging around up there in the ol’ noggin; sometimes I can’t see straight.  At this point it doesn’t matter how many plans I have or how jealous they are of each other, until I get myself a full-time gig for the next couple of months, none of them are getting their way.

The one aspect of the future I am excited for the most, that will be the same no matter which path I take, is the invigorating fact that I cannot turn back.  I don’t mean that like a country song metaphor, I mean that I will have no where to stay.  My parents are currently looking for a one bedroom, and as embarrassing as the idea of me needing physical incapacity to keep me away from this God-forsaken place is, the fact that I am currently back here suggests that it is so.  Anyway, whether I set myself up in a city or send it for the jungle, I really got to make it work.  That is something I have accepted about myself: if I don’t have to, I probably won’t, but I sure can, and, luckily for me, I usually have to.