February 1, 2001.  Thursday
 
 

    I put in an extra long day at work today, trying to finish my articles.  I think it was the latest I stayed, till about 8.  I got home, to find out I had missed Survivor, which I kind of wanted to see. But Jed filled me in.  So it didn't really matter that much.
    I didn't really do much else.  Just worked all day.  On the train home, I was thinking about New York, and about my feet.  Specifically, my calloused feet.  i was thinking how New York's changed me.  I think I'm finally starting to come out of the shell a bit.  After a year and a half in the city.  I'm a bit more assertive and able to talk to people.  And a bit less scared of confrontation.  I hope it doesn't make me more cynical though.  I'm worried the longer I stay in New York, the longer this trend will continue, till I'm just a calloused, cynical jerk.  Which made me think of my feet.  Or hands.  You know, you have this shell around you, and you're really uncomfortable and reserved, and eventually it starts to deteriorate, and you open up.  Same with my hands, fingers, and feet. I've got these calluses, and i pick at them and tear them off periodically, to reveal soft skin. But eventually the calluses come back, bigger and stronger than ever.  So I'm worried that my outlook on life will end up like my feet.  Softer and more open at first, then the natural course of things makes the shell come back, bigger and even more cynical.  This make any sense?  I guess it made more sense when it was this amorphous notion on the train and I didn't have to explain it.  I just liked projecting my life views based on my feet.

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