since you've been gone

I haven't worn my ring in two days. It's not like I am married, it's not like this ring means anything to anyone but me. But i was looking for it so many times, i kept going to pull it off to flip it around and turn it over, and I couldn't.
I keep thinking about becoming a teacher. I don't know if this is me, chickening out, signing off from the world of things that make no sense to me or if this is really what I want to do. I'd like to go someplace small, with a few close friends maybe, in the woods in the middle of nowhere and be able to figure it out.

For now, though, i am waiting. I am waiting for the right thing to jump at me and scream for me to notice it.
I am vaguely sure this is not the way to go about doing things.

People can stand outside all they want, looking in, telling me what's wrong. That's not going to do a thing to change me.

Our apartment is approximately seventy five degrees and sunny all day and night long. You think i might welcome this in the early winter months of boston. It's awful. I fall asleep lightly, uncomfortably, sweating with chills from the freezing breeze of my window. I hardly sleep, I have crazy dreams, too much is happening and I am always anxious. I don't know if this is just me, missing deadlines, failing at all sides of every equation or if I am just reacting to the heat. It must be...

I just finished reading Margaret Atwood's The Tent. I am not sure if it was academically well received or even noticed by any community other than the one inside my head, but it sounded a lot like something written close to my heart. Kyle asked me to read to him from my journal, and I refused. I think it's strange that nobody keeps journals. Why is that? How do people go for so long without keeping documents of their daily inquiries? All of my favorite journals have been chronicle books. They did give me a dud once, for which I wholly blame the journal.Though my grandmother died at the beginning of last year, and I am vaguely sure she is responsible for the many strange events that occurred thereafter.
Here is a list of the number of things I lost this year:
a room key
a student id
about six assorted socks from different pairs, creating about six pairs of unsightly un-matching socks
a digital camera
some lofty air-headed goals
my best friend, for a while
my roommates
concentration, sight, vision, direction

Or maybe this is all just the city, this black wormhole of a city. I still think it was the ghost of my dead grandmother, and I'm somehow sure this is all a strange sort of retribution.

Today I watched the boys next door clean their t.v. Well it was one boy. He was very avid about it. Neat lines.

Do you see what this city is doing to me? But where else is there to go? College is the one choice you get with no strings attached. And now it's all me, and there are a million strings, and I can't even open my eyes to decide.