new old more book profile blog rings host

prev (ready or not) next
2005-01-18 | 12:34 a.m.

So here I am, I am forty years old. Is it time to begin?

Could I build a career, take myself seriously, do I even know how? I do know how, and could advise another, but when it comes to myself, I always ALWAYS make the purposeful misstep. I am amazingly good at it. Some part of me does not want to succeed. The unknown is threatening. Nothing ever really makes me happy, I know that. I have enjoyed the fantasy of success in the past, but now even that makes me feel tired. Literally, I get tired; it's like this dense fog of distaste and reluctance (oh nooo) settles over me, gets my hair wet. But sometimes the reality isn't so bad. I never know what's going to suck or when, precisely. I just know that I hate it and that it tends to come with new experiences. Ergo.

So. But. I mean, why not anyway? I am forty years old. My skin is crepe-y. Death, the cobra, rises up before me, does a little dance. What are you waiting for, baby? The show's almost over. The curtain is heavy and must come down.

prev archive next

if you're not reading mawm you're not reading me