There's a lot of school in my life right now, Diary. The time that doesn't concern anatomy seems to be spent entertaining and planning parties for the new freshmen. I come home late, and I'm tired. I close my eyes for a second, and it's late evening, 10 p.m., bedtime for eager medstudents who want to feel all brisk and alert by the dissection table.
And it's not that it pains me. I like this, mind you. It just feels odd, I guess, to have this much of a "life" all of a sudden. To be occupied, to be responsible and needing to do things every day. I'm happy with what I've chosen and with where it seems to be taking me, but yet, now and then, I find myself missing my old days. Days of staying awake all night, spending my time on the Internet, and rarely going out to see people -- "people" usually being close friends or Internet-relations, when I did.

Well, Diary, I know it doesn't sound like much, especially not to someone who hasn't been there, but for all I know, I liked it. So I think of this and notions of how I'm not devoted enough start surfacing. How I, were ever I to become able, might give up all plans of a career and lead my life simply as an observer.
Then, attempting to get a hold of myself, I direct my thoughts toward medicine, lifesaving, astronomy, helping the helpless and planets other than our own, and feel that maybe life on a grand scale is supposed to be about participation, after all.

So, like so many times before, I'm glad I have you, Dear Diary. Among so many other things, I believe you are a link to, and in a way the essence of, my online self. As long as I have you, I believe I will always have a part of that, too.