In spite of overall long-term confidence, the feeling right now reminds me of getting out of college, a kind of four-year de ja vu. I'm still hurting for space to think and fumbling around for the lack of structure. Lost in the wheels of confusion, spinning fast on caffeine and poverty.

I have blind faith that something will break soon, but at the moment I don't know what it is, and I worry about letting people down. Hopefully my universe will be forgiving. I need some time for myself.

The Crisis Of Meaning is a time-worn idea, something I've discussed with my friends since adolesence. According to good old Erik Erikson, we're supposed to have moved out of the struggle of Identity vs Role Confusion and into the realm of Intimacy vs Isolation. I ponder...

Intimacy is defined as the ability to be close to others. This means as a lover, a friend, and as a contributing member of society. There's the rub. Though I feel strong on the issue of "who I am," I have quite a lot of angst about "what I do" and "who I do it with." What's your role here? Just what would ya say ya do?

The last time I remember feeling like I had a good answer to this was in early 2003. Sasha took me out to a party in TriBeCa with a bunch of other people who seemed older and more established, I was leaning in a doorframe (like Brando's Stanley) and sweating from biking over from Brooklyn and we were doing the introduction thing. The women were teachers or grad students; the men were in finance. "I'm an artist." I threw on a little bit of Oregon accent with it. Felt right. Sasha took to it, which was the point, but I didn't really live up to the billing in the long run, got sidetracked -- really -- into politics as an occupation, and now I'm here.

And I'm struggling. The most important thing is to stop struggling. Need motion, velocity my old sweet mistress.