Sunday, 12:10 AM.

Attempt #....what is this now, 15?

While everyone else (that I respect) out there is doing what the world needs, I lay on my bed in darkness and attempt to muster up a sentence that sums up my life. And I feel selfish.

I feel selfish and selfless and abandoned and loved and hate myself for feeling so much when there are other things I could be throwing my brain into. Yeah I just ended a sentence on a preposition, what of it!?!?!

There are not enough words to describe what I am feeling, so I am going for blank. I feel a lot like Locke's Tabula Rasa, a slate wiped clean of all emotions.

Godawful things happen every day. And for some reason, it's okay! How is it okay for someone to get raped? get cancer? get shot for being the wrong color in the wrong place?

So what does it matter if I have "personal issues" and that I "don't have a purpose" and I'm not actually in the sanest of minds right now? I think it makes me whiny. But no...I guess I should be sane when teaching, playing....but in the meantime, I'm going to dig deeper.

See you on the other side.


Maybe?


P.S. I am reading lately to shake whatever this phase is. Lots of it is pleasure, teaching, or both...and I am reading a lot about racism in this country. It's terrible, and this presidential race should be interesting. I count every single one of my stars to be lucky that I don't live in certain parts of this country. Awful. I highly recommend The Freedom Writers Diary if you are into this as much as I am.