Monday, October 04, 2004
People . . . sassafrassin'@#%%@%@#$%^
Ah, so it is. I might as well be out with it. I'm insane. Certifiable, bona fide, what have you. I say this, dear reader, because people depress me. No, no one disappointed me as such. This malaise did not emerge due to some vulgar experience with druggies, hookers, or pedophiles. Rather, I have the priviledge of basking in the bright glow of Mormonism at its most manic. Concourses of clean, intelligent, thoughtful, witty, well-achieved college kids surround me. Instead of relishing the uber-spiritual surroundings and clamoring to be equally impressive, my lagging heart lulls, even lowers in my chest cavity, and I'm reminded that I either do not belong or may never feel that I do, if only for a shady past and a questionable present. Of course, I'm just brimming with potential, like my mother's old run-down pioneer-age home in Brigham City. The problem? Who will undertake the daunting task of renovation if not me?