I'll go to some event and come back and drown in my usual immeasurable depth of despair, thinking bitterly what a waste of time it was and how I wasn't able to find one single interesting angle. I will come to realize that just like in any metropolis, be it New York or London or whatever, there are still too many people. The 1% of the 1% of the 1% - are too few. The odds are too low.
They're nowhere. Everyone else is a waste of time. I literally thought I'd accepted it last year, but I've failed to do what I was determined to do. It's just too impossible for me to overlook space and time, Diary. I am here, I am now. The few are here, the few are now. Can I- should I abandon it all or keep scrambling like some fool? I feel like you know.
It's not a good feeling, though I feel it rather regularly - being a fool . I've got some of my answers, Diary, but still more to be found . Those people are part of the answer. I've asked the same questions for too long . It is no doubt a fault- an incompetence on my part, and I have to work on that instead of running away from it all.
Imagine catching a cold at this hour .
I feel like - you can only do your best .
I feel like - Fate has no sympathy .
I feel like - I've never gotten over or gotten past my childhood .
I feel like - I've never changed .
I wonder what my initial bias is. I wonder what was my first absolute subjective opinion .
It is hard to appreciate the world sometimes. All the art you love must not all express that same sentiment. Yet the picture that is not yours- it must feel distant and strange enough to be looking forward to.