Its' late, all late entries are hereby written at their own risk. I'm not responsible for what comes out of my mouth this late. I'm not dead by the way! Today, I woke up not wanting to move. I wanted to lay and be content where I lay. Metaphorically more than physically. I yearn to move at some level, whether more physical or restless and moronically emotional I don't know. But when I thought of leaving where I am now for the vast world of bigness, I just wanted to lay here a while longer. I return to school in less than a week. I don't have all my classes figured out and I really don't know where I want to go with my life. I keep thinking I just want it all to be simpler, but I feel so much pressure to be prepared for the rest of my life. I feel like I need to be stronger for my family. Those are big words coming from me. I don't enjoy responsibility. My favorite place is as comfortably and safely irresponsible as possible. I thought that's how you make life worth living. It's the rush of new and uncharted territory; the wirl of unfamiliarity that takes over and pulls you under the clear cut world and into the instinctual, nearly animal, presence of mind that I miss most. I want to feel life again, to dip my head beneath the clear sky and into the murky waters that are human existence and taste the earthy liquid that is humanity. I want to throw myself into the river and let it run its course with me, as I have always done, but I can't bring myself to leap knowing I have a wife to care for. And I can't find a way to share that life with her, knowing she can't even see it. I want to move, really. To stretch my limber body and lift my narrow frame high into the water, to thrash and frolic, or even just swim with the current. Alas I am paralyzed by fear.