Boy do I feel dumb. Sometimes I can’t imagine how I can
achieve anything at all. It’s surreal. Then that feeling passes
and life goes on. I can’t say if all this is chemical in nature, these
thoughts and pauses and sentences. I feel tired of prying. Now
I real tired again this evening. I was an ok week, but it sure wasn’t
any reason for celebration. More dismay regarding the psychiatric
drugs. To feel restless. To be so blah. Blah and blah. I watched
Moneyball this week. It just happened. I watched a baseball
game too – a couple innings maybe. I am getting old and I am not
so caring about most things. I believe I can say things and things
don’t make sense too. I can feel this, but know that something else
may be more true. It sounds right, but I know it’s gibberish. I don’t
care. I agree. It’s only right, the world is not here. I am not…was…
Lost that. Don’t care. Picasso had a blue and rose period. I have
my don’t care period. Hard to believe I am here, but that’s perhaps the
beauty of this, b/c later I will be able to return to this and wonder if I wrote
this. But I won’t be sure. Just like I can’t be sure right now. Make sense.