It's not unusual to be loved by anyone.

I've been thinking about this concept lately. Really the past hour. But the concept of being alone but not really alone. What I mean by that is I may be by myself -- meaning not with a group of friends, just me by myself in a crowd -- and even though I'm alone, I don't feel alone because I'm happy. Conversely, one may be with a group of friends -- not physically alone -- but be emotionally alone. These are not foreign concepts. Everyone feels this way from time to time. I thought of it tonight because we talked about "mists of darkness" in Institute, and the speaker tonight turned to me and asked me for an example of one of these "mists of darkness". I said loneliness. It started us on a tangent, talking about why we feel this way, who feels this way. I was astounded that every member of the audience (granted there were only about 20 of us) raised a hand, affirming they'd felt the pains of depression. It's important to remember how alike we all are.

The train was packed coming home from work earlier. I bumped bums with this one lady the whole time. She had the squishiest bum I have ever felt. Of course, I haven't touched too many bums, but this one was like a down pillow or a marshmallow or a water bed. I wished my bed were as squishy and malleable as her bum. Maybe that's weird, but that's the way I felt. (For the record, I do NOT want to lay in her bum. I just wish its squishiness were clone-able).

I have a week-and-a-half left at work. Nine days. I am starting to check out. It's not good.

I am beginning to miss the simple comforts of Provo life. The fact it doesn't take 30 minutes to get places. The fact I can go a few days without washing my hair. The fact that cheap thrills are actually cheap. Having a washer and dryer in my house. My chimes hanging outside my bedroom window. Not having to fight for pedestrian right of way 100 percent of the time (though there are still those in Provo who insist on trying to run me over). Smelling little to no BO on the people around me. Not getting hollered and honked and smiled and winked and pssst at by guys (seriously--is that the best you've got?)

I came home today and my apartment smelled like sewage. I'm not sure what happened. I think it's just the fact I live in a pre-war building, which means there's almost a hundred years of human stank festering in this place.

Anyway, I'm covering the launch of Guitar Hero III Thursday night. It's at the Gibson Showroom (Gibson, like the guitar maker). I'm going to pee my pants.