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After an uneventful Senior year at college, I went right to graduate school locally, working odd jobs. Life was busy and hectic at times, but overall carefree. I lived at home in the house I grew up in, visited my grandparents a lot, and dormed on occassion. I never seemed to make one of my classes in particular, and never quite earned full-time credits, and it was tough deciding whether to keep going to school or just get on with another life. After all, I was an entreprenuer, building pieces of businesses — whatever would pan out. Helping move my grandparents to the nursing home was a biug ordeal that we did as a family. I dated a bit, but was too casual about it. I remember a girl — I think her name was Nicole — and we dated a few times. I even slept with her, but thereafter I didn’t call her again and she just sort of disappeared. I always expected to see her around campus, but after while wondered if I would recognize her or remember her name.

I wonder why I woke up feeling so much of what could be described as regret or guilt about it this morning — like I was missing something and my life could have taken another turn, buth with Nicole (or whatever her name was) and maybe in some other way. Not because you shouldn’t feel guilty about such a thing, I suppose, but because … well … it never happened.

None of this happened. My senior year wasway too eventful, and because my daugthter was born shortly after graduation, I decided not to go to grad school right away. In fact I never did. My parents moved out of the house I grew up in, sometime that last year of college, and I didn’t see my grandparents that much or even spent hardly any time helping them move to the nursing home. I don’t think I even met Nicole and didn’t do any dating, casual or otherwise, except for my daughter’s mom.

As I was writing this, my wife came into the room and said “You aren’t you.” She is very perceptive. I hope to be me again after some Tea and hugging my wife. I’m a bit emotional right now, wondering if I’m having some kind of psychological issues. Or maybe we really do live another life when we are asleep, as if alternate realities I always deny exist maybe really do in some strange way …

Myabe it’s a bad idea toeven put this in my journal … I think I’ll make it friends only.