I put on a decent show in public but I’m so angry and frustrated and depressed that it paralyzes me half the time. I’m nauseated by my own failure. How I ended up as a dilettante coffee-house barfly is beyond me. I’ll probably never know why I’m a complete sexual failure, or why I can’t hold practical things together. The lasting pleasures of adult life are beyond my reach.

What the hell happened to the 18-year-old kid who was going to take on the world and do great things? What the hell was he thinking, for that matter?

Regret and missed opportunity and failure, failure, failure get stronger every day. I hate being this person and I hate everyone who’s had the things I never got.

And now the long coasting ride down the hill to the end.

I’ve become a loathsome pathetic stereotype and I can’t get out of it.

7 thoughts on “

  1. Fuck that 18-year-old kid; he was a shitty planner.
    XLVI.
    For in and out, above, about, below,
    ‘Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
    Play’d in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
    Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
    XLVII.
    And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
    End in the Nothing all Things end in–Yes-
    Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
    Thou shalt be–Nothing–Thou shalt not be less.
    XLVIII.
    While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
    With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage drink:
    And when the Angel with his darker Draught
    Draws up to thee–take that, and do not shrink.

      1. Re: Movies need to be more like real life?
        I’d agree with that, except that I’d be the Fat Sidekick of the Attractive Girl, and never get any guys. 😉

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