Wednesday, December 25, 2002
Letter to Myself
Ever get the feeling that you were put in the wrong place? Like perhaps, your soul was meant for another...distant...planet. It's so hard sometimes. To be. and I'm caught up in so much, I often don't know what to do next. So many options, but they're blinding. And in the blindness, I see so few options. But I always seem to do something instead of nothing. That's the meaning of life i suppose, something rather than nothing.I like to think that if I just had a few million dollars, i could solve my problems, but that wouldn't heal me. my energies are so conflicted. I feel my aura weakening and shifting darker. This battery that is my body is short circuiting somewhere. And all the while, on top of everything else, I'm trying like hell to develop a personal philosophy. Or not develop one, I can't really tell sometimes which goal i've set. And I seem to confuse me more everyday. But here i sit and will tomorrow and the next and the next. Working for something, because, apparently, by damn I owe it to somebody. Maybe all the whos and whats and whys will come out in the wash. Otherwise, i'm going to be a hobo and sell subway slugs in boston.
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Ever get the feeling that you were put in the wrong place? Like perhaps, your soul was meant for another...distant...planet. It's so hard sometimes. To be. and I'm caught up in so much, I often don't know what to do next. So many options, but they're blinding. And in the blindness, I see so few options. But I always seem to do something instead of nothing. That's the meaning of life i suppose, something rather than nothing.I like to think that if I just had a few million dollars, i could solve my problems, but that wouldn't heal me. my energies are so conflicted. I feel my aura weakening and shifting darker. This battery that is my body is short circuiting somewhere. And all the while, on top of everything else, I'm trying like hell to develop a personal philosophy. Or not develop one, I can't really tell sometimes which goal i've set. And I seem to confuse me more everyday. But here i sit and will tomorrow and the next and the next. Working for something, because, apparently, by damn I owe it to somebody. Maybe all the whos and whats and whys will come out in the wash. Otherwise, i'm going to be a hobo and sell subway slugs in boston.
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