4 days have passed since my last post. I dreamed that someone posted a comment to my blog, encouraging me to write every day. The dream was positive, a good review. But, as usual, my unconscious has decided to save only the negative connotations, discarding the rest as chaff. So, I have the feeling I have disappointed my dream fan by not writing. These daily (hourly, minute-ly) struggles persist.

I have volunteered myself to coordinate an art show in November. I am petrified. I am unwilling to let myself be a beginner, to learn things as they come. I feel I should already know how to do this. It will be an interesting experience. This blog should be titled "Adventures of an Introvert in the Land of Extroverts".

One cannot underestimate the significance of the Myers-Briggs recipe.

I had one good day last week - balanced, peaceful, productive. Subsequently, the familiar restlessness-disguised-as-sloth returned. Luckily, but somewhat perversely, this state of being is comfortable and familiar to me. I am unsettled, not quite happy, but safe.

I feel suspended in my brain. My body is going through the motions, but my being is waiting. Since I cannot figure out my destiny, I will simply wait it out. But all the while, I will be expecting the big breakthrough. This expectation will keep me from experiencing peace or true rest. I want to know what will happen, what should happen. Some stubborn part of my psyche won't let go, even though I know it is futile to wait to know the future.