This morning, I was in my Early French Lit class and my professor said something that struck me.  She usually battles valiantly to get most of the class to relate to the work – something I don’t particularly need.  But she said something roughly akin to “going forth in life and having adventures” (en français, bien sûr) – and I guess I never thought about the modern life being filled with “adventures,” per se.  In fact, the things in modern life we are supposed to want seem to preclude adventures.  I don’t know where I’m going with this, but it has been rattling around all day.

After class, she gave me a little advice about grad school, and really pushed me to consider leaving town.  I am free to leave, so to speak; I probably should, but I’m having trouble picking up my feet.  Inaction may be a form of action, but there is no doubt that action…well it’s pretty damn active, no?  I guess I’m a little uncomfortable with forcing the universe’s hand, which seems ridiculous, considering that things happen whether you are passive or active.  It isn’t as though I’m more in danger of making the wrong choices just by making active ones.  I’m feeling mushy and fuzzy-headed; it may be a reaction against needing to be forceful and clear-headed.  I may not have anything to keep me here, but leaving means giving up the ghosts of what I had (if that makes any sense).  Ironically, being apart from the Ex makes it harder to make this decision – I would have argued for leaving if we were together.  Oh, how full of excuses I find myself these days.