Bearing confinement

Sometimes I really feel like I just can't bear to go outside, or bear to be inside. The thought of encountering the same old places and people with their ideas of who I am is cramping. I believe that to a great extent we are whatever it is others perceive us to be. I cannot bear it.

My experience of being confined conflicts with the self-imposed nature of my confinement. I am confined a mist of unhappiness. But is that true? Does the mist itself confine me, or is it just my inability to overcome that mist? By this I mean, is there 'really' a mist? And by the way, when does a mist become a miasma? Of course I 'could' go out, I could face the world--or at least face Chelsea--the doormen of my building, at least--the walkers and wanderers in this gallery village--the cupcake eaters and stroller-pushers--the other dogs--the other dogs' owners.

Today it seemed 'beautiful' outside, so I went out with the dog and did enjoy a short walk. I wanted to be out more, but I had technological work to do. Ultimately I failed to reconcile necessary computer time with being in nature. Thus I stayed in and kind of dallied about the computer, wandered about my house, ate a truffle, talked to my mom, began reading a book. Unbearable.