THE LIGHT, THE TUNNEL AND THE DAMAGE DONE
I realize that lately I've not been in touch with my feelings.

I always used to watch insensitive people shove and elbow their way through life, often achieving the things I wanted but was too aware of my surroundings to just go and get for myself. I have known, and learned, that nice guys finish last.

It's not like I missed my adolescence the first time around. It was fine. Not the best time of my life, but I liked it okay. It's just that, in some ways, I'm entering it again.

All my life, I've been told how special I was, and like most kids who have gotten that treatment, I heard it. I believe it, even to this day, even in the screaming face of everything and everyone saying otherwise. To be a writer, or a singer, let alone both, you have to believe in your own specialness. But I've dropped the ball pretty much all this year, and I've been baffled as to why I've been so ineffective in everything in my life of late. I think I know now.

Against my better judgement, I'm dumbing down. Not in terms of intelligence, but in more fundamental, deep-rooted ways.

Still. I don't need therapy. I need success. Everything follows from there.

I need a good editor. I need a month off followed by about two years of solid work. I need an advance. I don't need true love or the new Aaliyah album or penis enlargement or even a better job or an apartment of my own, though those last two would be nice. I need even a short break from the endless cascade of distractions, I need a nap, I need to get to work, and I need a piece of dumb luck somewhere. That's not much. I can get that all for myself, and doing so will make it so I can take a couple of deep breaths. Once I can breathe again, I can feel again.