Progression

Dear self,

Bah humbug to school. and to future planning. and my family's expectations. and my own dissapointments. Schools return answers for acceptance or not in a couple of months. I dread it. What will I do with myself? What will I do for the rest of my life?

My family wants me to have a dependable, responsible, respectable career. But what does that mean? What does that imply?

How does one tell the difference between something they're really interested in and something they want to do for the rest of their lives? Sometimes I think at one point in my life I had the potential to be something wonderful. And everything beat it out of me. The things I have met with have quieted me. I have never known the language in which to express myself.

Or I could be copping out. I just have no talent. and no ability. I don't know how to commit to my decisions. and I don't know how to finish the things that I start.

I am a failure. And that is the real root of my unhappiness. Even worse, I have had the ability to succeed but out of laziness I chose to fail. And now it's too late. And that is the root of my unhappiness. And that it far more contemptible than being born a failure.

I was raised in a home of oppurtunists and office workers. And I convinced myself that I had so much more to offer. Only to realize in early adulthood, in my second prolonged ugly stage that my life is so much more meaningless than I had hoped.

I have nothing to offer anyone. let alone the world. I have fallen into the masses of the mediocre.


and I have an eternity of a lifetime to contemplate my mistakes.