Well then. I think it’s safe to say that by this age the cell is pretty much complete. It’s quite analogous with my entire life, really. Fitting, since it is my life.
It’s times like now that I can believe that my crackpot theories are true. If I believed in curses, mine would be to forever exist on the verge of…everything. Life. Career. That goddamned fucking “R” word relationships. Quality of fucking life, I suppose. (I know—that’s a lot of fucking. Sue me. I’m in the moment).
All of my dreams and desires, just a hair’s breath out of reach. Mental, physical, financial, whatever—I can see it, smell it, pontificate about it, give a professional on it—I just can’t touch it. That would be my cure. If I believed in such things such as curses.
The million-dollar question: where’s that last 10 percent? The last big push to make all of those murky, nebulous dreams finally, mercifully, come true?
OR
Silently and subconsciously, you begin to lower your expectations. This continues until your expectations and reality finally, mercifully match up. The sooner this happens the better. Otherwise, it can (and routinely does) get ugly.
Well I wonder. Do you see me when you sleep?
No comments:
Post a Comment