dismal, just dismal

Whenever I leave Seattle it feels like I am commiting ritual suicide. There is the feeling that somehow I am a failure, unable to make the right choices so that I could live in the place that I want. There is the sinking realization that I am leaving, getting into some aluminum death cigar bound for someplace that doesn't have the right ratio of trees to people, or that lacks a decent body of water. Here I am, sitting in the lab in the midst of another wasted day, spent trying to fix junk and deal with failure, looking for the motivation that I thought I had managed to squirrel away in my big green bag, along with a jar of honey and a bag of butterfly cookies from Le Panier for my housemate. I keep hoping that tomorrow will be better, that something, anything, will work, and that I can capture some kind of forward motion. Its 60 something degrees outside, maybe I will feel better after going for a bike ride.