The entry I just wrote on Waking Life reminded me of a time when almost no one had the slightest idea what I was thinking about. It felt strange to perceive so much distance between the overexposed "me" in front of you right now and the underexposed "me" that was sitting at the Catalina in January, 2002 surreptitiously recording the dialogue to the film so that I could quote it properly in the paper I was going to give in Albuquerque the following month. And that got me thinking of that solo drive to New Mexico and back, when I experienced a much needed flash of freedom in what were extremely claustrophobic times for me, both politically and personally. Back then, I was wondering how I would share my experiences and with whom. Now I have an audience, however limited, and have a hard time recalling the relatively recent time when I had no outlet for my random reflections. Am I better off now? Is it even possible to pose that question? Entering the world of Live Journal was like finding a way to use a part of my brain that had lain dormant my entire life. Yet now I sometimes I get the feeling that the parts of my brain that were working before that fateful day at the end of August, 2003 have been shut off themselves. Once you've lost your innocence, though, there's no going back. And pretending you can borders on the pathological.