Welches Land? Cornwall. It - as inevitable - saturdays. Rain taps on the window. Same old story. But i have something to talk about. It is the already noted problem that i'm obsessed with how people perceive me, and/therefore i'm unhappy with the train of my life. I need to accept my einsamkeit, that one can only put oneself out there, that things need to happen to one. True? Self-deception? I don't know. If only I was what I was like a chair is a chair (forgive the Sartreism). Sartre makes this big thing of the fundamental project. But does not my fundamental project determine me as much as any Freudian drive? But the thing is I should relish my aloneness, find things to do other than pine thereover. And I do. But I could do more, so my thoughts didn't turn so often fantastic. This blog is in fact a good outlet, but it takes up only 20 minutes. I should write. Writing will soothe all pains. But above all come to accept myself somehow. I think i'm still holding out for literally the deus ex machina. I anxiously check my email constantly, never to have recieved everything. I build up the checkpoints of the week, then lament their inevitable passing. I want to be happened to. But this is bad thinking. I need opportunities. This is purely venting, with no interest in coherence or humour.