Sometimes it feels like the day is a precarious balance of details and deadlines. If one need were to insert itself, or extend itself beyond the bounds I've set, then everything else would cave in.

People call it being "busy" but I don't like that word. I think it's supposed to sound important, like the person talking on their cell phone just after the plane touches down. But I am as vain in my running around as they are in their need for constant contact.

Have we found what we're looking for, or have we just found ourselves? I think I'd like to lose myself.