it happens several times a day. without warning, the plateau is trite and insurmountable. so many vague distances growing or worsening in the most imperceptibly subjective manner. i think of so many things to say out loud but to whom? i plan this entry in no less than three revisions at the height of my immobility and when the moment comes it's all blank.
im struggling against the lamest of obstacles. trying to find within myself alone the energy and clear-headedness to shrug things off and keep perspective. to keep engaged and alive, to believe in a better time and a better place that is somehow a naive balance of my commitment and alternate realities.
my greatest shame is the proverbial ball and chain. i'm all at once enraged and entangled with the futility of intimacy or expectations. it feels something like reading a book where the language style is so consistently stubborn you don't really want to finish, but you've already built a pantheon of unfinished thoughts and the guilt keeps you quiet and doubtful of your own part in the narrative.
i don't know that my sincerity will be read with any earnest beyond complaint. at this point anything i do is pure narcissism.
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