I'm feeling really mellow, or maybe melancholy. I really wish I was, say, working at an AIDS hospital in Africa right now. Or maybe in the slums of Calcutta. Not that I know anything about Calcutta - it's just a buzzword, a name of vague evil - but I just wish I wasn't lying in this friggen warm bed right now just waiting for Christmas. I've said before (though maybe not in my Journal) that I could never be a missionary because I'm so into security and the status quo. I've said before that I couldn't do it; I couldn't survive in my own strength, so I'd need a very obvious call from God to go. I've said before that God would have to catch me, or I'd be ruined. I'd go crazy or die or go 1984: just turn into a cold, ruthless animal hell-bent on survival. Well, maybe that's all true, but I'm starting to really want to go somewhere. To be maybe in the interior of China with no money, no passport or visa, no contacts or safetynets, no food, nothing, literally nothing but the clothes on my back and Almighty God. And maybe he'd catch me. Or maybe he'd let me die. Just a single, nameless, lunatic boy, all alone in his despair, rotting into the dirt. But maybe I'd be ok with that. Maybe I'd prefer even misery and death to this beautiful safe life I have now. Or maybe I'd be willing to risk it for the chance that God would catch me, and I'd do things beyond imagination. Or maybe I'm just full of shit, and I get kicks from writing scary stuff when I know I'll never, ever leave this safe little life that I have. God, have your way in me. I don't know if I really mean that, but even if I don't, have your way anyway.