Shwa: a simple reply
In reply to my last entry.
The point may have entirely been lost. I'm 87% sure that I didn't post my most recent update two months ago. So in logging in, and generally feeling guilty for not applying a post in 6 months, I find a post that to all consideration, I did not post. It's entirely possible that I posted such an entry, but it's unlikely.
It's been a mess. In the spur of failing a class, of struggling to get ahead in an internship that may or may not entirely ruin me, who's to say I didn't drink too much and make a post that I don't remember.
But to 87% certainty, I didn't get drunk or stoned enough to endulge my future self in an attempt to make a post. But it has stuck my curiousity. How is it that I have failed at the creativity that has highlighted, even dominated the dreams of my previous years?
So here goes:
Neutral. Dampened. Slow. It's an effort to do anything. I feel like I've disappointed my friends. I'm even disappointed in myself in that regard. Today. Tomorrow. Keywords of my existance. Where am I? Where will I be? So pulled, so torn, so many pressures of a 'real world' ambition. I'm there, but my sins are almost a token to my own failure; Who am I, and all the resolutions that go along with that. I have the usual suspects; I dream of them, and their presense preserves this dying breed of thought. In the most recent week, they have made a presense in my life more than any other. Days feel like weeks. Months feel like years. Has it really been that long? Will it really be that long? I'm at fault, this much I know, and can not forget.
A look to a friend, a longing that torments.
The point may have entirely been lost. I'm 87% sure that I didn't post my most recent update two months ago. So in logging in, and generally feeling guilty for not applying a post in 6 months, I find a post that to all consideration, I did not post. It's entirely possible that I posted such an entry, but it's unlikely.
It's been a mess. In the spur of failing a class, of struggling to get ahead in an internship that may or may not entirely ruin me, who's to say I didn't drink too much and make a post that I don't remember.
But to 87% certainty, I didn't get drunk or stoned enough to endulge my future self in an attempt to make a post. But it has stuck my curiousity. How is it that I have failed at the creativity that has highlighted, even dominated the dreams of my previous years?
So here goes:
Neutral. Dampened. Slow. It's an effort to do anything. I feel like I've disappointed my friends. I'm even disappointed in myself in that regard. Today. Tomorrow. Keywords of my existance. Where am I? Where will I be? So pulled, so torn, so many pressures of a 'real world' ambition. I'm there, but my sins are almost a token to my own failure; Who am I, and all the resolutions that go along with that. I have the usual suspects; I dream of them, and their presense preserves this dying breed of thought. In the most recent week, they have made a presense in my life more than any other. Days feel like weeks. Months feel like years. Has it really been that long? Will it really be that long? I'm at fault, this much I know, and can not forget.
A look to a friend, a longing that torments.