Sometimes I think I should hang a big sign about my neck with the words "Under Construction" inscribed upon it. I feel like I'm always in the middle of a variety of life-renovation tasks, kind of like one of those hapless suburbanites who is always adding to and refining their already over-encrusted mansionette, never quite happy with the results. To stretch that analogy to breaking point; what happens when you start to construct both a new two-car garage and a flower bed in the same spot?

Chaos, uncertainty, failure. That's what. I hope I'm not heading down that path. My two-car garage is a little computer programing venture I'm trying to give birth to, while my flower-bed is an idea for a new website/company. Not content with that, I'm ripping out the hot-water system and repainting the exterior. In less picturesque terms, I'm starting to see a therapist and trying to pursue a film career. Oh, and maintaining a large website, and holding down a full-time job while looking for a new one, not to mention trying to hold the old body together with a seven-day-per-week fitness regime.

I write all this not to boast of my indefatigable energy (I wish), but to make it obvious that I'm running around like a headless chicken because I can't make my mind up which is the right direction to run in. Well, I suppose a headless chicken by its very nature will not be able to determine the correct direction in which to run. Do chickens even run? I don't know; my analogies are all a bit too complicated this evening.

I am scared of ending up nowhere new though. So I should be glad that where I am right now isn't so bad. Okay, I hate my job, but at least I have a roof over my head, and a pretty one at that.

The therapy is the newest addition to my portfolio of renovation tasks. I've seen a therapist on three occasions in the past, the first being way back when I was an undergraduate student, sounding out an unregenerate old Freudian on the idea of losing my homosexuality. (It didn't work). I'm not actually a big believer in therapy. I know that it can work for some people, but I've always been skeptical that it can work for someone as deeply introspective as myself. Maybe my reason for seeing one now should be to help me make sense of all of these different directions in which I'm trying to run. But that's not the real reason at all; I'm fucked up. That's the real reason.

Not dreadfully fucked up, you understand. But fucked up enough to realize, recently, that it might just be serious enough to prevent me from ever sustaining much in the way of long-lasting relationships. This journal entry is already too long for me to delve much further into this - maybe some other time. My first session with the shrink is this Thursday; perhaps I'll write a little about it the next day. That is, if I have the time amidst all my renovation work.

P.s. I thought y'all were used to my somewhat dry English humor. Apparently not, since I've received a few emails sympathizing with my being "fucked up" in the twenty-four hours since I wrote this entry. I just want to say that I really don't need or deserve your sympathy. I mean, I am seeing a therapist, yes. But I'm not a basket case. I was just using the term "fucked up" in a very colloquial sense. I don't imagine that I'm any more fucked up than you are :)