And come again some other day.

Rainy days make me contemplative; rainy days at the end of a particularly difficult academic year make me take stock of the whole enchilada. (Sidebar: how did the enchilada become the metaphor for the entirety of the state of being of a thing? Just a thought.) I guess I haven't yet hit a state of what I would consider authenticity; haven't yet really been all the way here, though I've been around for so many days. I see the pieces gathering and the form beginning to take shape, but there are days it feels like such a tightening cage. Very soon here my courses will be completed and it will just be me and a book and all the possibilities riding on whether I can kill my fears and do this thing, and do it righteously. I want it to be over with but I wish it would never stop. I'm as excited as Christmas; I'm as terrified as divorce.