Next, the psychiatric ward (March 18)

Sometimes I catch my reflection in the dark TV screen and see the whole of the contents of the room held in the curved glass: a window cloaked by curtains as if hiding from the bright sunlight in shame, a bedside table stacked with books (though none of them for studying) and my computer for my idle thoughts, and me, pitiful in the hospital bed, but not from pain or exhaustion – only out of sloth. I’ve never known the aches of sitting in bed so long.

The weeks pass but bring me no closer to finding the reason for my travels. I just wanted a personal challenge. I got it, and I’m failing. Even without the mysterious medical problems, I’ve been like so many other travelers not true to the art – finding comfort in books and other foreigners instead of the land and people I thought to have come to discover. I admitted that the hospital stay has relieved me from facing frustrations that I want to run home from.

Still I don’t want to return home. Jack says I should use this as a lesson on pride. I’m not too proud to go home – I could easily claim I was punched in the eye and shot in the leg. I was told (warned?) this would be the best-worst experience of my life. Does the ‘best’ part come in when I make it home alive?
(My humor is a little dark, but this is said jokingly.)

I spend a lot of my free time thinking about my future. When I’ve thought enough about the first thing I’m doing when I get to the States (which is drinking a margarita) I re-hash the five-year plan.

Oh, the timeless question ‘What do I want to do with my life?’ Every day more lost in the years I face. Perhaps I’m luckier than those with their fate already determined? To have a career waiting for me and my future decided might make me more tense – fearful at not having the opportunity to find myself, which first requires being lost. I need to become famous on YouTube and get a sponsor. Maybe a pharmaceutical company would be interested…

I remember a woman I worked with when I was 18. She smiled smugly at my desire to travel and other lofty wishes for an exciting life. She said that she, too, used to think that she had some unique calling & energy to go out and save the world. A little crushed then, I now realize I never wanted to save the world. My ambitions are totally self-interested. Although my expectations at the current minute are not for a future of riches and power like I often dreamed (even when arriving here), they are just as selfish. I think I am too lazy now to chase wealth.