March 14, 2007
. . .
My mind is cluttered and thick today -- my ability to focus on a task feels more like a disability. I feel like a failure and I’m filled with envy those who minds maneuver effortlessly.
I wonder if I’m damaged goods, or if I simply lack the discipline that others have accepted and integrated into their lives?
If consciousness requires clarity of thought, then I must be comatose.
. . .
My spirit has retreated deep into a murky bog of indeterminate glop.
I hold on tight to whatever buoy I can imagine…because the undertow of mental quicksand is dangerous.
I’ve been here before -- in this place of anxiety and inaction.
Each visit grows a bit more wearisome.
Regret, anger, cynicism, bitterness, dread and despair are circling like a pack of wolves. Can I fend them off, or should I join their ranks and prey on others?
. . .
I know there’s a way out of this mental muck – but I must face a chasm of indecision.
And I’m simply too afraid, too tired and too disillusioned to attempt the leap to the other side.
And so, I hold on to whatever hope I can muster.
Namely, that I can, at least, float…