Sunday, March 20, 2005


I can't shake off this feeling that I'm destined to be either a food critic or travel writer or - shut yo mouth! - traveling food critic.

Call me a dreamer, call me naive (or lazy and looking for every possible way to avoid the 9-5 doldrums). But I've always been in search of good food and people and this perpetual wanderlust, I simply cannot continue to ignore. Agoraphobic, I most definitely am not. (Maybe bolshephobic if I ever get the chance to meet one because those Bolsheviks ... you never know what they're cooking up. *insert sinister organ grinding*)


The only phobia I can identify with is zelophobia, which is the fear of jealousy (or intense emotion). I am as sentient as they come, and suitably, would much rather appear to be stoic than petty and fanatical. Maybe that's why I rationalize my feelings as I am feeling. How else could I diffuse irrationality into productivity?

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