My imagination has scarcely had time to wander this past month. It feels trapped among details of everyday life. I look at objects and they're just things, sitting where they belong and leading off into no flights of fancy. I feel dry, and a little dull.

On the other hand, the here and now has been quite fascinating lately. I am enjoying every one of my 19 class hours this semester, and I am doing Chorale (college choir) and starting a martial arts club, as well as participating in Ultimate Frisbee league. I am quite busy.

Still, I feel lost. I have to write fiction. I have to. It's a huge part of me, and I regret more than ever that I don't know yet what it is I need to write. I also regret how little fiction I've read lately. It's like college is changing who I am, and I'm letting it suck away one of the honest pleasures in my life with all its work. It's this blasted sense of responsibility. I can hardly read anything just for itself any more. I feel obligated to make it something Worthwhile, as though a story can't be good in itself. Perhaps this is why I haven't written lately.

God, help me find a way, and thank you for all your mercies to me and how well school is going.
  ¶ 7:04 PM