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.