Engine back in gear

Ok. So I finally went for a run last night, and I'm planning on a follow-up run or a visit to the gym tonight. It made such a huge difference, even though I didn't make it that far. The air here isn't great for a run, but when I compare running in smog to not running at all, the choice becomes obvious. Last night, I didn't idle away a few hours. I didn't follow the pattern that inevitably leads to depression in my case, which is pretty much the one where I sit and stare at the computer all day or watch shows I've downloaded until I get so sick of my own company that I burst forth, only to run around seeking attention and approval.
I apologize, the self-interrogation that preoccupies me of late can't be stripped from my entries that easily. It is what I think about, and try as I might, it continues to bleed through in what I write. Things are sublty shifting, and I'm trying to track the changes without overestimating them. The strangest change I've noticed is that I'm no longer the kind of man who can sleep through the night, unstirring. I dream. and dream. and dream. At first my dreams were about home, and then came the displacement dreams wehre I was constantly placing things from home here or things from here at home. The third type that arose was the utterly displaced type of dream, the surreal sort of revery where I am at once in a Kafka novel and a Dali painting. Those were pretty cool. Recently, and particularly last night, the two chief occupants of the room that is my mind combined to create an interesting scene. It was as though I were on trial before a room of my students. They scrutinized me innocently, in the fashion after which they comment on my armhair or the fact that I blush. They spoke with such a wondered curiosity, matching their daily behavior as I explain new things to them. But things were different in the dream. It wasn't my clothing or my hair that they looked at with rapt curiosity, but instead they looked at my faults, my past, and the very things that have been vexing me lately. I call it a trial, because I had somehow to explain these things to the children without making them alright and without the children shunning me. It was something of a nightmare, and it's haunted me today.
But, as with all other things in life, no one thing can occupy the mind continuously, and in my moments of forgetting, today has been a pretty great day. I'm blaming it on the run last night and the little ways I keep reminding myself that the kids have progressed since I got here. I'm doing my best to see things as they are, stiving toward some sort of objectivity. Camus has taught me that objectivity is pretty impossible if one is to continue to interact with an absurd world, which I find darkly funny at the moment. I'm doing my best to keep rolling the rock up the hill, though, because if I can never achieve my aim, I might as well get better at failing. I hope you can hear the smile in my words, and understand that I'm actually doing quite well. For now, I'm off to class. I hope all is well back home and I look forward to hearing from you, if you have the time.
Love,
Joe