No journal in a month; this is unlike me. Well, sorry to disappoint. This one's not going to be too grand. A lot of stuff's been going on in my life. I'm just too stressed, apathetic and lethargic to write about it.
I suppose I'll let you know more eventually. I'm not dead. Just tired.
My trip to California confirmed my suspicions that it is nothing but a giant road, a slew of people commuting from A to B, a transitional phase, a state of mind that exists only in the potential, the possibilities, the future but not the present. Its landscape is like something out of a poorly planned fantasy novel. Forests of coastal pine, cedar and redwoods boarder hot, dry desert-land that catches fire every day either by the carelessness of future-bound commuters or by natural events. It's as if some divine being is drying to burn the place down, hindered only by the immediate response of fighter-jets that dump sandy red retardant on the