Sometimes it hits me how much I don't know and don't understand about the world, about people, about myself.
Especially about myself.
Here I sit at a table in a kitchen-in-progress, staring out the window at the trees being slapped around by the gusts of wind, and I ask myself, "How do you feel?"
It's a perplexing question, one that confuses me about as much as it confused Spock in Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. The question comes again and again, a tinny computer voice asking "How do you feel? How do you feel? How do you feel?"
Well, computer voice -- I don't know how to answer that question.
Parker would say, "That's not an answer." To which I would respond, "But I don't have an answer. I can't figure one out."
I don't like talking about things that I can't make sense of.
"How do you feel?"
In a lot of ways, I feel out of control. I feel sick inside, because I don't know what's going on in my heart. I don't know what I want. I don't even care half the time anymore.
I don't want to go home. I don't want to go back to everything that's there.
But I don't want to stay.