At least I�m starting earlier tonight.

Tonight has been another sort of lonely night; I am quite broke until Wednesday, so my activities are rather limited until then. Someday I want to catch a midnight show of Donnie Darko in the East Village; I would very much like to walk though the park right now but it is almost midnight, and as much as I love the solitude of the park in the dark late at night, I must respect those damn safety issues. When I was with the Louse we used to stroll through the park around midnight � there actually are a lot of people out and about at that time � and while I don�t miss doing it with him I (of course) miss having someone to share the dark peace of the damp grass and that secret, otherworldly feel of being out while so many others sleep.

I am thinking that it is time to start up The Artist�s Way again. I was thinking of picking up at week 3, but then that would mean doing the reading deprivation practically cold turkey, and I think I need to work up to that. But I need to shake things up. I am happy with the growing caliber of my writing here; I don�t think it�s spectacular, but it�s improved, and I�m constantly surprised when what I write resonates with someone else.

I feel as if my focus is so internal, so self-involved and self-absorbed; the feedback I�m getting lately is the only thing keeping me regarding this diary as nothing but an exercise of masturbation on the page. I need to again and again cajole myself into showing myself a little compassion, though. I use this space to try to get to know who I am, because I really am starting from the very beginning. I chide myself for miring myself in such a limited scope; I feel as if I should be writing about other people, other topics, branch off into fiction, create something new, instead of just musing about my daily life and how much I want to get laid. (And there I go again, being flippant and dismissive of my true desires; how much easier is it to posture my loneliness and craving for connection as nothing more than an itch to scratch?) But how can I write about anyone or anything else with any authority until I know who I am?

Not to mention that damn should. It is the kiss of death to my motivation, and no wonder I am utterly unmotivated lately. I feel so burdened by the constant monologue in my head of you should clean your apartment make more money take classes eat better start exercising find a husband have kids grow up already would you? The classes, especially, have been bothering me. Working at Columbia, I get free part-time tuition, which yes, I know, is an amazing benefit, yet I haven�t taken classes in a year and a half, two years, and yes, I am well aware of what a fool I am not to be taking advantage of this. But I am so tired of the shoulds, yet I haven�t yet been able to move past them, at least not to the point where I�ve adopted something new that feels right.

Isn�t this what I was talking about last night, about the sex stuff? I am trying to give up the old patterns � I guess in both respects, trying to please. I�ll be loved if I never say no in bed. I�ll be loved if I get a graduate degree and do something respectable, something smart. I have little to no experience making decisions for myself, to satisfy and gratify my needs. Needs? What are those? I wouldn�t dream of burdening others with needs of my own! Lordy, no! Whatever you need, here comes Aimee on the double!

Ugh, forgive me � I�m cranky and bitter and venting. And maybe I�m sick of apologizing for that too. Goddamn it, I am not always congenial and pleasant and unobtrusive. (Aimee Lite FM! Nothing too threatening � you won�t even notice she�s there!)

Oh, god, I hate these growing pains. 29 years old and just now hitting adolescence; that�s how it feels sometimes. I spent the majority of my teenage years in straight-A, straight-laced obedience � laced periodically with the occasional inconsequential outburst of anger with no substance. I am positively straining to the point of bursting against a whole life of being a good girl, agreeable and affable, of making nice, smoothing and glossing over, a life of yellow wallpaper and striving for acceptability. I am so fucking tired of it all, yet I�m terrified of the alternatives.

I need to take a break from this page for a bit.