I don't have the diction for this sort of thing; this restlessness. Greatness, is seems, is for those who strive and reach. I am in a wall, or actually behind it. Explaining it is like asthma, I suppose, but the lack of physicality in it all doesn't quite support that. A see-saw of the mind. This is not how I want to write, but it seems that these are the words that I am typing, much to my displeasure. I keep having these bubbling memories lately, all about this. Embarrassments that are still quite embarrassing. I know that I should realize that I will be a whole lot better of once my mind finally wraps around the fact people are rarely thinking about me. I write, think about, shout and demand it; the system remains unmoved though. I am what I am keeps coming to mind, and that is reassuringly pathetic. Sag days, all of it.