Pondering the wastefulness of nervous habits -- a thought brought on by an email from John Quintus -- I sat in class and held down my legs and kept my hands quiet on my textbook. When my tongue started to wander over my lips, I reeled it back in. Instead of the energy growing, caged, as I expected, it dissipated and I felt calmer.

It?s almost like I?ve spent the past five years acquiring, accumulating, and now I work on eliminating, cutting the fat, ridding myself of physical burdens, objects, bad habits, stuff.

And as I?m doing all of this, I pick up my camera, having been left in my desk drawer all these months, and turn it on to discover that it?s not broken after all. I?m convinced these these take on a life of their own after a while.

This encapsulation that I feel, this distance from the world, keeps me from experiencing anything substantial, however. I look at the paper lampshade on my nightstand as I attempt to read and then realize that twenty, thirty minutes have passed and I?m still on the same page. When it takes mental effort to focus on the present moment, I know it?s time to return to my routine of work, school. It?s all a cycle. I?ve been dreaming long enough. Time to realize those dreams.

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