I guess that once I got to meet and talk with my friends during the summer it’s hard to go back to my normal state of solitude. It’s as if I suddenly realized how confining it is to be without human contact aside from my family and those occasional glimpses I get from interacting with the outside world.

A jail is not in walls, or in guards, it is in the lack of a human touch. It is in pacing around in the same places over and over till you go mad. While my house may not be a jail, I’m not feeling so free either. I guess that even freedom enjoys company, once in awhile.

Sure, I have email and IM, and sure, I find myself new hobbies in brewing, baking, and programming, and sure I still read a lot, but there’s still something missing. Maybe it’s you.

I feel confined in a maze of books and mailboxes. Some mazes have doors leading into strange locations at remote corners of the earth. Mine has but one, and it leads out.

Not that out is much. I can walk downtown once in awhile, and I can go to Westgate and the library, but where else would I go? I don’t know where I should go, or when I should be there, or how, but I have to be somewhere, not just to escape, but to enrich.

I guess that in a sense this is akin to a hangover after the euphoria of meeting my friends. So please, live a bit more quietly, I’m getting a depression again.