Here's an abbreviated list of things that I would terribly like to be able to do that I currently cannot:
In broader news, it just seems to me like everything is getting always better and always worse at the same time. As soon as I structure something, something falls apart. The darndest part about the whole shebang is that it's absolutely romantic nor anywhere as near as it might sound. I suppose that's been my problem with the past year or two of my life—I could probably deal with being emotionally distraught, hyperbole, deep night, hole in the wall but typing, able in spite. I can't channel Kierkegaard; I end up with no one recognizable because he's no one worth channeling. This, truly, is likely the first writing I've really done in over a week or two. Such truth is disheartening and disillusioning. I thought I could write, you know? And now not only can't I write, but I don't even want to try.
I hate starting paragraphs with 'I', but there it is. I knew I'd age and get all wiser and smarter and more aware of myself. Damn, it's not what it's cracked up to be.
In short, there is more than I care to think about riding on the outcome of the next four months. Probable outcome (negative, as could be expected), I keep on shuffling by and nothing happens that didn't happen in 2007.
Most optimistic prediction, however; well, I've slowly given up most hope of a large switch turning from 'off' to 'on', from 0 to 1, and all of a sudden 90 becomes 270 and Alaska becomes Argentina. Best I can see happening is kind of a cascade of small switches. Like, snap, and instantly Eli is focused and there's kind of a quelling of the sweeping need for the creation of new identities and names because, like, I know I can solve my problems or at least something good at one point, although presently broken, can be made excellent or marvelous.
2008 could be a year of CONTRIBUTION, also of REIGNITION and ORCHESTRATION and ME and CONSTRUCTION and GAME NIGHTS. Maybe my apathy'll focus itself.
Four days in, looking probable.
- play the guitar.
- sing.
In broader news, it just seems to me like everything is getting always better and always worse at the same time. As soon as I structure something, something falls apart. The darndest part about the whole shebang is that it's absolutely romantic nor anywhere as near as it might sound. I suppose that's been my problem with the past year or two of my life—I could probably deal with being emotionally distraught, hyperbole, deep night, hole in the wall but typing, able in spite. I can't channel Kierkegaard; I end up with no one recognizable because he's no one worth channeling. This, truly, is likely the first writing I've really done in over a week or two. Such truth is disheartening and disillusioning. I thought I could write, you know? And now not only can't I write, but I don't even want to try.
I hate starting paragraphs with 'I', but there it is. I knew I'd age and get all wiser and smarter and more aware of myself. Damn, it's not what it's cracked up to be.
In short, there is more than I care to think about riding on the outcome of the next four months. Probable outcome (negative, as could be expected), I keep on shuffling by and nothing happens that didn't happen in 2007.
Most optimistic prediction, however; well, I've slowly given up most hope of a large switch turning from 'off' to 'on', from 0 to 1, and all of a sudden 90 becomes 270 and Alaska becomes Argentina. Best I can see happening is kind of a cascade of small switches. Like, snap, and instantly Eli is focused and there's kind of a quelling of the sweeping need for the creation of new identities and names because, like, I know I can solve my problems or at least something good at one point, although presently broken, can be made excellent or marvelous.
2008 could be a year of CONTRIBUTION, also of REIGNITION and ORCHESTRATION and ME and CONSTRUCTION and GAME NIGHTS. Maybe my apathy'll focus itself.
Four days in, looking probable.
No comments:
Post a Comment