Musings

It is hard to be firm yet friendly. Being friendly is a necessity, my work to an extent is dependent upon their performance. However, they had better not screw me over. I will be one hell of a vengeful person.

My moments of optimism are brief, and very highly charged. But brief. I am full of incomparable passion and determination, but all this fades when I need some words of encouragement myself.

At this point in life, how many friends do I have compared to the symbiotic relationships? The mind unconsciously keeps tracks of the people who will be needed - not for who they are, but for what they can provide me with. Is that a way of the modern world and something completely acceptable, or is it something aweful?

Which one is the real me ... the one that laughs and makes others laugh, has earned the nicknames Spacey and Scouter, is tough and authoritative, or the one that curls up into a ball?

I dwell in this pessimism.

The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had