I remember what I said. I said that I'd leave. I said that, if I had no reason left to stay, then I'd leave.
Well, maybe I didn't think that through all the way. I mean, how am I supposed to know when there's no reason to stay? It must be a feeling, because facts are piling on top of me, and I still can't decide.
About every hour, I flip-flop between wanting to leave and wanting to stick it out. I bounce between excitement over the prospect of starting over and dread over the same prospect. There's a line between perseverance and stupidity, and I live on that line, right where it intersects the line between cowardice and acceptance.
Whatever I do, I know what I want it to be for me, and not for anyone else. I want to end up doing what's right for me. Wow, that seems like a selfish thing to want.
It's not really that black and white, of course. It never is. I'm not the only one, even though it sometimes seems that way.
I've been dewrinkling my shirt while I type this stupid entry. My dryer just dinged, so it's time to go. I'm going to this Jack's bar and drinking some Rogue Dead Guy Ale. I like that stuff.
Maybe I'll write something when I get back home. I feel like I might be in a writing mood tonight.