sábado, 24 de março de 2012


Thinking about the meaning of life, and stunned by the choices I've made, utterly stunned by the consequences of my actions, although knowning behond doubt that I'm the reason for my own...whatever this is.

Anxiety? Yes, I feel that way too familiar shortness of breath. Depression? I find the word too strong, and ultimatly labelling. Somehow I believe that once you find yourself gasping for life in it's claws, you might as well check yourself in the nuthouse, 'cause ya aint gonna come out just like that, sister. And talking like that is just the proof you need that you just went kucoo...

Lately I've been feeling like I'm letting something slip though my grasp, something ultimatly important, but I somehow get distracted by mundane worries.

I find it difficult to remain focused. Rephrasing, I'm finding it difficult to know what to focus. What is it?

In the meantime, I'm reading. Rediscovering the pleasure to read, after some disappointing experiences in the last few years.

Currently, I'm being jinxed by this: