Failing — 3 months ago
WARNING: This is not a pretty entry. In fact, I am somewhat embarrassed by it. But it is all that sitting down this morning has produced. Call it release. If you don’t abide self-pity, then please, stop reading and go somewhere else.
Today is one of those days when I lay my head on the desk and wonder what the hell I am doing. My life is not balanced or efficient. My words are not elegant, or apropos. My mindset is not one of adventure or conquest, but also not one of contentment. I am failing in some small ways in every area of my life right now. The horizon in my head, at times so brilliant even in its distance, is blunted and gray, enrobed in a fog that no heat can burn off, no sun can permeate. I am jealous, and frustrated at my inabilities, my shortcomings. And angry. I am more likely to sit and fill myself, with pity or with food, than create or release. My legs ache. My heart aches. Although I know that it is temporary, today I am, most definitely, not enough.
