"What Are You Do-Ing?"

SAN FRANCISCO, CA - "So, Nick, seriously. What are you doing?"

This seems to be the second most asked question of me these days, right after, "Huh?" (which is usually in response to something random that has accidentally fallen out of my mouth). The question is asked so often lately that, in the eloquent words of a wonderful commenter who seems to have genuinely missed the point of everything about me, it makes me "want to puke a little bit in my mouth."

The question is asked, almost without fail, during every phone conversation I have with someone outside of this state. It even pops up with people here in California. The main gist of the question seems to be about the nature of this trip.

What am I doing?

I suppose this whole adventure was cute and fuzzy when I embarked on it four months ago. "Awww, gee, look. The little guy is heading out into the big world to 'discover himself' or something. Isn't that fun?" Nick was going on an vacation, right?

Despite the repeated assertions on my part, most everyone seemed to think this was my little split from reality temporarily. Finally having that breakdown that was just waiting to happen. "Nick doesn't need to have himself committed for a few months or anything. He's just gonna get in his car, spend all his savings while driving around taking pictures for a while, then he'll be back and everything will be peaches 'n' cream again."

Case in point (no offense, guys): My parents initially seemed very excited about this idea. When talking with friends, I was a weird, genius child who was out traveling the country and had a fun website that people could check out and enjoy. Lately, though, I've become the eccentric child who lives in a hostel in San Francisco. I suppose it's a little harder to find people who will respond, "Oh, wonderful!" to a statement like that.

They're not the only ones though. In the course of 12 hours recently, I was asked that question by five different people. "What are you doing, Nick?" Unfortunately, my poor dad was the fifth one and I was fed up with the question by that point, which I'm sure I explained rather harshly and probably ended the conversation soon after. Sorry 'bout that.

So, what's the answer?

Well, here's the scoop, Sports Racers. I spend large parts of the day sitting in a fog, lost in a thought traffic jam. Sometimes I almost end up in real traffic because I lose track of what I'm doing at the moment... a lot. I usually sleep 5 hours a night, waking up intermittently. You want to know why I so frequently end up being the last person to leave, the last person in bed each night, up at ridiculous hours? If I can just exhaust myself enough, maybe I won't have to lay in that bed alone with my thoughts. If I can just pummel myself into a delirium, maybe I'll just pass out when my head hits the pillow, sleep a few hours, and start anew the next day. Because when I'm not sleeping, I lay awake in bed, looking into the dark, pondering this issue over and over and over. And you know what?

I. Don't. Know.

The personal frustration that follows that statement is tough to describe.

Now here's my question. Since the consensus seems to be swinging toward the belief that I'm on vacation, will someone please tell me...

When exactly does it begin?