I went to see this investment banker this morning. After therapy. It's a friend of my dad's. He told me to take some business classes. He told me to go into hedges, derivatives, etc. I'm not exactly sure what all these are, but he said they work you to the bone the first few years, 100 hour weeks. But I can wear whatever I want, have tattoos, piercings, doesn't matter, as long as I work. I might do it. I don't know. I wouldn't mind being that focused, that wrapped up in what I do. Wouldn't bother me. I don't really want to take business classes though. But P wants me too. So I probably will. M just wants me to do what interests me.

What interests me?

Math does. Photo does. I don't really know what does.

I don't think it matters that much right now. I don't do a whole lot anyway.

I'm meeting with my writing professor today to talk about my essays. I want them to be stellar. And I'm not too happy with either of them right now, even though I already have A-s on them both. But they still aren't really up to my standards. Maybe that means I have unreasonable standards. Wouldn't be the first time. That's for sure. But usually my unreasonableness is directed at others, not myself. At least I think so.

I'm having a hard time coming up with definites lately. Everything is an 'I think' or a 'maybe' or a 'who gives a fuck'. I wonder what that's about.

Oh yeah, last night I slept without any meds at all! No ambien, no restoril, only my anti-ds which help a bit, but that's not to be stopped, and I don't want to. I'm pretty stoked about this; I know it sounds silly. But I haven't slept too much without meds lately. And this is two nights this week that I've slept without them. Well, one night I took the ambien which does fuck all to me. It really is the biggest bullshit drug ever made. That's for sure.

Walking into this B of A building today sure made me feel weird. Seriously, every singe person I walked past would stare at me. All these suits looking at me. The receptionists all give me this stern tone when I approach. It's weird. People are really obsessed with looking normal. I need a haircut. This mohawk just isn't working for me right now. But I know I'm not going to get a haircut till I go home. Maybe then. I like it. I stand out though, and I only like that every once in a while.

What a fucking drag.

The snow is turning black. It's getting all mushy and annoying. It was so pretty yesterday. Now it's just New York again.

God I can't wait to go home. See Laura. See Scott. See Caitlin. It's going to be wonderful. And it'll hurt like nothing else. I know I'm going to get hurt back home, but I'm going to do it anyway. I know it. And that knowledge doesn't really bother me. I'm going to watch my step, but I'll still step in the sludge.