My grammar is suffering, my tone is unfocused, and I use far too many swear words.

I hate to say this, but I feel like my writing has been reduced to the level of Sponge Bob Square Pants.

Before I get stoned to death by Sponge Bob fans for even suggesting that I am just as good as their fav TV show, let me just say that my mind does not support the Sponge Bob mainframe. I am more of a Dilbert/Daria kind of Gal, and with the way things are...I feel my mind has been reduced to a more intelligent version of Beavis and Butthead.

I am ticked off by this.

...

Today is D-day for Clarke.

The regional staff is here and I just finished wrapping a gazillion presents...Okay, maybe something around 40. My punishment for not dancing, which is fine with me. Like I said, I would rather gogo dance on top of a table...hell, i'd rather gogo dance with a pole. Otso-otso has got to be the most bulgar dance i've ever seen.

My left foot is numb and I have the beginnings of a major headache. This isn't psychosomatic. What is psychosomatic is the sleepy feeling I am getting from my left arm. Not good.

I'm not getting much joy out of this day. But then again, I haven't had much cause for joys in this office lately.

I had dinner with Mark yesterday and discussed the state of our yet-to-be careers over calamari spag and steaming sausage calzone. He was encouraging me to write, just write.

Yesterday, as I was reading through Damian Lewis' "They mentioned the knicker box" interview, he said something that really struck me.

"If you're ambitious to do well, it's what you strive for: a certain level of recognition. I don't mean in the supermarket, but within your profession."

I really admire him for saying that.

He said once that he just wanted to be an actor and never thought of failure to be an option. It's a bullheaded way to see things, but to do what you want I think you have to be somewhat tunnel visioned.

I remember being like that with debate once. I wanted to win, but most of all I wanted to be good. To be looked upon as a veritable and worthy competition. I don't think I ever saw anythng beyond that goal, everything else seemed to vanish and all I wanted was to have this prize.

I want to have that again. That do-or-die sense of determinationf or something that your really passionate about. I don't think i've found it yet.

I used to think that profiling was it, but even at my most "obsessive" I never really thought it was enough, though it may have been different for the people on the other side of the fence.

I was surprised that a lot of people were disappointed that I didn't persue forensic psychology. The days I spent in the library, copying the formula for several forensic chemicals, skipping classes to read up on the latest. Spending my vacations doing more research...I guess they were amazed that I was willing to invest so much.

But it obviously wasn't enough because i'm still here, dazed and confused and evidently without direction.

At the meantime though, writing seems to be the light at the end of my current tunnel. I'm willing to work for this, to bleed for this.

Cross your fingers. Cross your fingers.