At ten o'clock last night I was tired. But when the lights finally went out at quarter to one, I had a difficult time putting my self to bed. I've come to the realization that my great escapes are still only just that; escapes. I can't rely on my hobbies to be useful for anything worth pay or credit, but rely on them for sanity--for individuality and the glue of my personal being. After so much of work and study, I needed time to find myself. So I took out my notebook and began to draw, shading in the gray spots with my magic water color pencils. Not long after my room was invaded by Josh and Alex, whom I swear become girlier by the day (they'll admit it). Josh has become my sort of replacement Amy--a reinforcement while my girl friend is so far and distant. But this is a detour from what was bothering me last night... I went to the print journalism job fair after scrambling to get a resume and some samples together. My efforts were without reward. I had so much to do that I couldn't spend much time at the fare, I didn't find anyone looking for a photographer, and I left with the feeling of failure. I know it's only first semester, but the pressure to be doing something is so incredible that I feel suffocated by it. I'm hoping next semester will be better. The "apartment" is a disaster. Dirty, I mean. I changed my sheets this morning but that hardly changes anything. To the point, I'm really looking forward to going home for break and, more so, having darling roommates next year. Ah, well, the co-existing continues... Well then, off to find success I suppose. There's always work to be done, writing to do, and a class approaching. When will enjoyment fully return? Carrie