. . .

The Terran Ambassador would like to make a statement

Texico is my interstate now. I have bitten my fingernails in proof of it.

I will no longer: suffer, cope, destroy you all. They have become cliche, and, as such, irrefutable. I must give you the chance to defend yourselves against my awesome wit. Why? It wouldn't be sportsmanlike. Who needs to be sportsmanlike?

I feel oddly drained, just now. It's early in the morningishcomparitively. (Being the only person to wake up at 7 is not a comfortable state.) It's now, what, 10:15, and everyone is reveling in the grip of slumber still. I wish I could do that.

Drained, anyway. I think it's because I really have Nothing To Do Around Here. I mean, I have no job (yet, I hope), I have no classes, all my friends around here are sleeping in this apartment, and most of my general frivolities that I while away the weary hours with otherwise are in storage. I have no transportation that I might at least explore, I have no money to do anything with, and I have no food to eat. All I have is this computer and some books that I've read already. It's not terribly exciting.

I'm in this protean stage. I have yet to adapt to my environment / adapt my environment to me. However, I've cut most of my ties to california, cut them in ways that, while I _could_ move back there immediately, I would lose all respect for myself in doing so. (This little voice keeps telling me, "You will go back, you know. You will." I probably will, too. But... not yet. Not soon, even.)

I'm not even sure if having money would significantly change my drained feelings. I still have to build a new existance here somehow. I need money for a portion of this process, true, but it certainly isn't all of it, not by far.

So this is what the world is outside my niche, hmm?