Persuasion, Angela. Persuasion.

Angela. Wow, I am impressed. You actually managed to focus in class today. You honestly forgot, for a while. Not bad, my friend. I think that perhaps things are sifting themselves out. I think... well, truthfully: I think that maybe I am fooling myself. I think that I am trying to reconcile fact with feeling, and it's not working out too smoothly. It all just depends! I can't make this decision on my own. It cannot, inherently, be a one-sided decision. I must talk this over with someone or really forget about it in hopes of self-resolution (which I, frankly, doubt will happen). I honestly don't know what to do now. I feel muddled. My thoughts are whirling - and I cannot seem to catch any stray ideas; I can't seem to pin any down or commandeer my now-autopilot switchboard of conscious activity. Hmm. I don't know! I think Thanksgiving will be a good break to sort things out. I know I will eat a lot. Part of me wants to simply not care - to be as "easygoing" as I am in most other situations. But I think I might care too much. I had wanted to forget about what would happen in the future... it was pretty selfish. When discussing any alternatives, my stomach felt as though it had eaten too many of your untouched tomatoes - acidic, bilious. But I don't know (I think that is probably pretty clear by now). I feel as though I am entirely disregarding pragmatism. The more I ponder (and trust me, I can scarcely do anything else), the more unsure I become. I haven't talked to anyone about all of this yet, and I don't know if I will. Somehow it just seems to close. I can scarcely keep typing, my thoughts are puddling so. Well, I guess I do know what my decision would be if this were all up to me. Or maybe I don't! I am examining my insides now, trying to decipher these emphemeral, nearly transcedent feelings into something articulatable. It's hard - it's really tough. I think that in all honesty, if I continue to do the things that I do, it will be unhealthy. And I don't want to get too attached. Though it might be a bit late for that. I think I might be feeling sick from incessantly chewing this cud of thought - this festering fodder of ideas. I think... many things.