Seriously, now what the fuck am I suppposed to do?!?
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: beauty must be such a fucking burden. It must capture and keep those enthralled and enriched by it, but I guess perhaps, in some way, I am lucky not to be so endowed. Who am I kidding, seriously, beauty is a handicap that I often feel that I can never overcome. I suppose I'll always be in the shadows, but I guess that is all I can be: the extra paragraph, the punchline to the longcoming joke, the event that no one will recount afterwards, or admit beforehand. I'm not stupid, I do have eyes, just sad, cyncical ones, I suppose.
This is a journal that and was long-coming, though this is not nearly all I want to say. I guess all I am shooting for is that I am so empty at times it is nearly unbearable, and I am scared: scared that something could happen that could change everything, for better or worse, you know.
Let's face it:
My hockey career is over.
My academic career is essentially over.
My "job" is essentially over.
What the fuck am I supposed to do, but sit in the middle of my fucking living room, and let the music wash over me, as I always fucking do?
I am at a total loss, and I'm just desperately searching for a direction now.
:(
This is a journal that and was long-coming, though this is not nearly all I want to say. I guess all I am shooting for is that I am so empty at times it is nearly unbearable, and I am scared: scared that something could happen that could change everything, for better or worse, you know.
Let's face it:
My hockey career is over.
My academic career is essentially over.
My "job" is essentially over.
What the fuck am I supposed to do, but sit in the middle of my fucking living room, and let the music wash over me, as I always fucking do?
I am at a total loss, and I'm just desperately searching for a direction now.
:(