And the waves of hell run rampant.

Sitting still in bed, with laptop where it was made (but perhaps not so well designed) to be, I try to conjure up the feeling that has been welling and festering deep inside my brain/soul. What is this all-too-familiar feeling that has been with me since I checked off that admissions application: "Computer Science" instead of "Biology." Granted, those were only two of many majors that Cornellian-to-be-hopefuls could choose, and little did I realize at that time that all those majors listed on those pages were just a handful of jobs that one could choose from in a lifetime.

Ignorance is bliss, I am told, and that I am coming to know from experience. So many people, so much to account for, and so many feelings to feel. How many people like myself go through each day in agony over why they get so caught up in thinking, and can't just do, "like everyone else does?" I know for certain that it's not just me that thinks that everyone else is like a robot caught in a web of pre-programmed thought called "society." From the looks of things, I expect that there exist intelligent robots, happy in their busy daily chores and blooming careers, taking the lumps with the cream, taking on each challenge with readied sleeves. I also expect that there exist intelligent free-thinkers, who are discontent with every single little thing on this planet and in their lives, who question every single little piece of experience and observation that comes upon them, who - through questioning - deny themselves the bliss that society can give in its normal operating mode. I am simply volunteering when I say that I am the latter form of being. And it is what I need to think through.

Lisa, you're so full of potential, I am told by one of the closest friends in my life. Potential is what is left when thinking too much knocks you off the board. Thinking about perfection, yet fearing the glory of reaching such a level of defined success. It is painfully contradictory to me. How can one lust for success so badly, yet fear it so much? Where does the fear come from?

Honestly? I fear reaching success. I fear living a passionate life. I feel that it would be much too good to be true. Yet I am not masochistic in any way. On the contrary, I feel that I protect myself to the highest degree by spending money and time on comfort - massages, personal training, clothes, make-up, home decor, much too much sleep, anti-pain medication, anti-stress programs, homeopathic treatments, acupuncture, chiropractic appointments, yoga, and the list goes on. So much comfort, all spawned by the media and the availability of money. Money used to come easy as General Manager. Now that I've been reduced in my own mind to Receptionist with a meager hourly wage, the availability of money is at a risk, causing my comfort to come into danger and elevating my need to find comfort elsewhere.

I fear experiencing something too good to be true because I don't believe it should happen. Logically. I fear that I don't deserve fame and fortune, because it is a creation of society, a position of royalty and celebrity which is an inflamed goal, set by crazed societal followers.

I looked up at the sky on a windy day, this Friday, and I saw the clouds billowing past a historic church steeple on Newbury Street. There was such strength and power in that external force, with such overwhelming intent that could drive the clouds at such high speed. And then there was man, as I imagined it, dabbling away with all his might in his own little section of existence. To what end? What is a job among the clouds and the true intent of nature? What kind of job exists in which I wouldn't feel insignificant in comparison?