Some days are so dismal, so pedestrian--or worse--so obviously void of any come-uppance whatsoever. I think, on these days which are increasingly common, that there might some day be a great awakening. I hope that I might roll out of bed a new man, responsible for myself and my surroundings. I wish I were suddenly inoculated with the will and wisdom to act uprightly and take the reins, to reinvent myself overnight. This is what I need--a suddenness as sharp as a tornado tip that could flip this house on the witch that is misguiding me.
Instead I blog and bog and mulk and mire, drowning in my misspent desire and burned out fire. I think, therefore I am, but what exactly am I besides tired?
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