children have a passion for gambling too.

"It's just...you two are so political."

Hmmm....

"It's the same as why I don't like some Christians: It's not the religion...it's forcing me to be something I'm not."

Oh god...

I've been experiencing a weeklong lump of panic in my gut. Will I be the preacher electrocuted during the baptism?

Howard Zinn whispers to me of the threat of the immediate. So, I've been lavishing in knowledge of the Spanish-American War and the Gilded Age. I think of my childhood fascination with swearing in my head, so that I might find some release without the threat of discipline. Still, I continued to feel guilty and cry.

My B.A. comes in January, and I've abandoned the workforce until then. I secretly have no plans to go back. I have to find something better than this to survive. I love work...but hate jobs. Okay then, now what? I'm exhausted by the very thought of theories regarding sustainable living.

But I have to try. Just as I spend hours in the trenches of World War I and drink cold beers with Hamlet. He likes to drunkenly rejoice, "Remember the Maine!"

How annoying.

Daniel Quinn instructs readers to be the message rather than attempt to spread it. Seems fair to me, but this still seems to pose a threat. I must bite my tongue as others query and scratch their balls: "Why are those kids in Paris rioting?"

I wince, and the thought slips away into the land of mental swearing.

I don't know. Shrug. ............ Blast.

For now, I must learn to make jewelry. It seems to be the ideal first step. If I wish hard enough, I may turn into a glass bead.

God, I wish.