The flipside of my previous entry is my angry reaction to the Red Sox game-day crowds. It feels like barely a minute has passed since the World Series, with all its attendant excitement, massive crowding, and delays. Now here we are again. Wednesday I emerged into Park Street station to face hordes of Sox fans, talking loudly about which train to catch, pushing and jostling to get on the trains, reeking of alcohol, and laughing derisively at people with dark skin or native dress. I missed my first train because of the crowding, figuring I'd grab the next, less crowded train. Dream on! By the time the next train came, a new crowd had formed, to merge with the crowd already packing the train. I got in line to get on and 5 or 6 groups of fans pushed in front of me. Cursing and scowling fiercely, I got out of line and moved down the platform, deciding to get on the D train and transfer at Kenmore. By this point, I was completely stressed and flustered, glowering at everyone and forgetting my manners. I put on my iPod, stopped pretending to read the New Yorker, and let Ryan Adams soothe my ruffled nerves. The D Train was fine, the transfer was smooth (especially interesting to watch the sea of fans trying to disembark, disgorge, and climb the stairs at Kenmore), and I arrived home a mere 2 hours after I left work. Play ball!

[Note: as you can see, this incident went a long way towards making me forget the fact that I like the Red Sox and often enjoy the fervor and fanaticism of their fans. I'm hoping those feelings will return, at least in between public transportation battles.]

The straggly tail of runners moving down Beacon Street across from my window represent the end of the 112th Boston Marathon. This is my first up-close experience of a marathon. I spent about an hour down on the sidelines, as waves of emotion washed over me. I was surprised by how touching and intense it is, even as a spectator.

It took me a long time to get home today, as crowds of people jostled each other to pack into any Green Line train, trying to get near Copley Square and the marathon finish line. After fruitlessly trying to board 3 C trains in a row, I hopped the D train and transferred at Kenmore, after the hoards had reached their destination. Coming up out of the tunnel at St. Mary's, I could hear the roar of the crowd, then saw the runners, a sea of them, moving in the bright sunshine. Tears sprang to my eyes. The combination of the grit and almost fanciful optimism of the runners and the excitement and supportiveness of the crowd packed quite a punch. This was about 1pm, after the fastest had already crossed the finish line.

Brookline witnesses such a crucial point in the race, as the runners enter the final few miles, but are just short of the finish. It was amazing to see Beacon Street transformed into a sea of runners and spectators. As the train made a slight incline, I could see several blocks ahead and the sea turned into a long river of runners. The day is perfect: sunny but not too warm. Plenty of people are grilling and boozing, taking the opportunity to party. Others are waiting for a particular runner and will jump up out of their seats and start running alongside their loved one, offering encouragement and liquids. Others are trying to cross the path of the marathon, dodging in between runners as they go by. The spectacle of it is entertaining, but the sheer emotion of it is overwhelming. I sat silently and wondered why I didn't cheer, wondered what ideas of focus, commitment, and hope I can take from this, wondered at the beauty of such occasions.

I really hate the bullet point in my last entry, but removing it now seems like cheating.

It seems like I am going to accept a full-time position at the company for which I am currently temping. This is either part of my comfortable, steady segue into mediocrity, or a smart way to bide my time until I can see more of the face of my true desires. It is probably a bit of both - like the road less traveled, it will become part of my mythology, changing its meaning as I tell about it at different points in my life.

Last weekend I returned to the Pioneer Valley for the first time since last summer. It was good to be there because I was seeing friends who are important to me and make me feel loved and accepted. Otherwise, the area instills a low-grade panic in me. I have come a long way from there to this current stagnation. I don't want to go back, but I want to feel the way I felt when I was there. I flirted with the idea of moving into the apartment upstairs from my friends, getting a job at one of hte colleges, and experimenting with that being "enough". Back in the city, I wonder how to make these choices. If I am baseless, formless, on what should I base and form my decisions? I feel a strong urge to be normal for a while, but my idea of normal is vague at best. I want to take this job, get an apartment, take some deep breaths, and stop worrying.

I went to the library today and stocked up on books and CDs. Now I am transferring the music to iTunes, where it will live forever! This seems amazing to me. Free things still look magical - "owning" these songs cannot be this easy. Got some things I'd been wanting for a while: Lucinda Williams, Wilco, The White Stripes, Sufjan Stevens, Prince, Modest Mouse, The Flaming Lips, Bruce Springsteen, Alicia Keys, and Bettye LaVette.

The weather has gotten beautiful, warm, sunny. Yesterday I walked up to the reservoir at Cleveland Circle, walked around it dodging dogs, BU runners, old ladies feeding the ducks, and pensive alterna-boys reading while walking. I sat under a tree and let the no-see-ems bite me while I whittled away at a crossword puzzle and finished up an article on magic from the New Yorker. It was a good afternoon. I look forward to getting more sun, wearing fewer clothes, and feeling my mood thaw along with the ground. Friday my parents will come for an overnight visit. I am occupied with thinking of places for us to go and things for us to eat. At times, this is a pleasant occupation, at others it is anxiety-ridden. I fear the exposure of my life, its limitations and preoccupations.

Today is rainy and gusting, but it is also 60 FREAKIN DEGREES!!! I am delighted to feel 60 degree raindrops being blown against my face by 60 degree wind gusts.

I can never seem to remember how changeable March can be. This year, it passed in a blur of snow-rain-sleet-sun-fog-cold-warm. I am glad to see April.

Even my alarm clock's failure to alarm me this morning could not shake my relieved ebullience. I finally unloaded the dark secret of my failure(s) to get into grad school to those I hadn't yet told. I feel so much better now, though the future looms perilously close.

This weekend, I will travel to Connecticut to visit my parents and see my sister and brother-in-law. I think it will also be an early birthday celebration for my Mom. Additionally, we'll be using the time to say goodbye to Willie, the sweet, elderly Cairn Terrier who has lived with my parents for the past 5 years. They have decided to have him put to sleep next week, after months of wondering and watching his decline. Blitz's rapid aging before her death reminded my parents that waiting until the animal is pain, paralyzed from a stroke, or completely incapacitated is not always the kindest path. Willie's infirmity over the last several months has prevented my parents from being away from home for more than a day at a time. His sphere and capacity are rapidly dwindling, though his spirit is not. We talked a bit about their decision, which mainly entailed