As I listen to the sound of Snows overly supercharged LS1 engine driving off with the Diamondstripe Combo to the airport, I look around my once dirty, than clean, and now dirty again kitchen, littered with the remnants of our con activities. Dice, little multifaceted plastic gems litter the table from our short, but hilariously off track Dungeons and Dragons (In Space) game. A lonely cardboard box, the image of a pots and pans armor clad 'hero' wielding the Orc-B-Gone chainsaw lays forgotten in the corner. Empty soda cans, enough to fully caffinate a small herd of furries for three whole days lay on every surface imaginable. Leftovers, dismembered couches, and an unlit Christmas tree, present-less.

And a sad little 'kat that has to get back to real life in 13 hours.

Back to a job with too much labor for too little pay. Back to a 'routine' schedule. Back to having no one around in the hours that I am awake, and being woken up by the sound of claws scrambling at hardwood floor right as I fall asleep. A return to opening the back curtains and seeing an unfinished tent-shed, dreams slowly fracturing every time it's looked at and nothing is done about it. Back to inadequacy.

I find myself thinking occassionally if it was a mistake to move. Should I have stayed, and taken the job offer, knowing my motivational issues, or should I have come down here to try to strike it out on my own, free to work on my own time, if I could actually get around to it? My greatest success in four years has been correctly making the food for everyone over this weekend. I haven't done anything with myself since I got out of college, and it's getting harder and harder to try. Injuries accumulate, energy is lost, it gets harder and harder to break out of the routine that is just so easy to follow. Why am I like this? I'm not happy. The one time I ever feel happy is during cons, when the flurry of activity, the feeling of comradity, the spirit of excitement whisks me away. I know that no one can fix this but me, and yet I find myself not trying to fix it, or letting things that shouldn't get in the way completely derail all enthusiasm or drive. I say I'm not afraid to try and fail, but is that maybe what it really is? That I really AM afraid, and not knowing because I've never tried is somehow more easy to deal with than knowing I've failed? What happened to that person in his senior year of high school, freshly accepted into a good art school, eager to work, so sure of where he was going?

I want him back. I need him back. I just can't figure out how to find him.

PCD sucks. I partially blame watching Wolf Children before everyone had to go, but I was already feeling it by then.