Life continues, and some mornings, weary of the noise, discouraged by the prospect of the interminable work to keep after, sickened also by the madness of the world that leaps at you from the newspaper, finally convinced that I will not be equal to it and that I will disappoint everyone— all I want to do is sit down and wait for evening. This is what I feel like, and sometimes I yield to it.
Me every Sunday night:
Me every Monday morning:
I’m a total fuckup, honestly. The reality is I’m not this person with this driving “get it done” attitude. I’m a complete fuckup and I’ve fucked up a lot of things in my life. I’m constantly tortured by a sense of failure. I feel like quitting all the time. I feel like hiding in drugs or alcohol. I feel like I’ve failed in terms of what my potential is. I don’t think I’ve achieved my potential because I haven’t worked that hard and I haven’t found the right angles. The reality is, I’m not a “get knocked down and just pull myself back up by my bootstraps and come back harder” kind of guy.
I don’t really sleep, or dream, anymore. I kind of pass out late at night, just to be able to wake up in the morning, a pure physical requirement. My body is rested but my mind is always tired, to tired for any creative thought once I fall asleep the next night. It would be nice to dream again, to sleep, and wake up feeling refreshed.