swift ups
i find myself constantly below the level that i strive for, and yet, every single time this fact reasserts itself in my mind, i feel i've lost something; something i'm sure i never had, which is why it seems so unfair that i must continually feel dismay. i'm not sure why, after all these years, i haven't come to accept this constant state as the normal, or why i still feel so betrayed when my brain shows me what it always shows me, which is less-than-wonderful, less-than-organized, less-than-comprehensive work. i know i'm paying attention, and i've been devoting myself wholly to this, my academic cause. yet still my brain churns out a wet mess of imperfection, and i'm surprised, every single time.
my hands itch to fly skyward in defeat.
perhaps if i at least did that, i would have time to devote to other pursuits, like creating semi-tangible things of my phantomly friendships.
my hands itch to fly skyward in defeat.
perhaps if i at least did that, i would have time to devote to other pursuits, like creating semi-tangible things of my phantomly friendships.