staging

Well, nothing's ever perfect - right? And sometimes things just fall apart and sometimes they don't and sometimes it seems like that's exactly what's happening, but it's really a mirage - buildings burning in your imagination when in reality it's all just smoke and mirrors.

Smoke and mirrors...sometimes I wonder if I fashion illusions for myself based upon what I want to see, what I want to think and feel and believe. If I'm willing to accept and believe things I should be wary of, because I'm thirsty for a reality that does not, and will never, exist.

Overly dramatic - grease paint and maudlin sentiments and I've tricked myself into believing I'm trapped inside a theater of the absurd where chiffon got draped over the spotlight and now the entire wretched affair is alight with flames. It's not that bad - nothing's wrong, nothing's right, and in my mind's eye I've created a tragedy.

So which direction, which illusion, to believe? Which is reality, and which is fantasy? Neither, both, a combination of the two most likely. Beset by my own confusions and wonderings, I find that I do not know if I have the strength or desire to triangulate on the truth tonight.

ruminations

I have stopped wondering, stopped worrying, and stopped doubting.

The only unhappiness now is my desperation to leave New England and make my way down South. I've applied for positions within and without my company and am impatiently waiting to hear back.