It feels lately as if I've been marooned on my own dark island. Completely out of reach and out of date, grasping for some sense of modernity. Sleeping on progress. Waiting for it to find me. My life has become a series of failures punctuating the years - career choices, internet personas, "art", men. None lasting, none particularly original either. Even my failure is rather predictable. I keep thinking I might come out on top eventually; after all this. The Catholic in me from my childhood resurrecting, trying to equate struggle with redemption, some ultimate glory, something to save me. But I'm not quite sure of the outcome anymore. I'm not sure who could love me. I'm not sure if I love me. The days go by and I don't see anything but my life slipping by in the background, quietly. I've just spent the last three months of my life watching the lives around me - children, travel, marriage, etc. All of this absent from my life.
I know I have always thought too much. And I let the weight of my theories paralyze me. Right now I feel overburdened. I just don't even feel the motivation to climb through it and out yet.
