Vapidity

I believe in nothing.

13 May 2020

I have recently discovered two things: 

1.  I have not been writing.  Only little thoughts on random pieces of paper.
2.  I am a medium:
      *an agency or means of doing something, OR
      *the intervening substance through which impressions are conveyed to the senses or a force                 acts on objects at a distance.

I am writing in this moment, so I'll give myself a break on that first one, but that second one isn't great. 

Neither of these definitions of "medium" reassures me, and yet I'm certain I am there. 

I am an interim in my own life, as everyone is, and I always end up being an interim in other people's lives.  I am not permanent.  I have lost the sense of self which tells people how to proceed.  I don't know anymore.  I am me, and I don't like me.  How can that be possible?  I have a million ways (theoretically) to "fix" myself, and I choose, every day, not to do them. 

I'll resort to quoting Jimi Hendrix right now:
"I know what I want, but I just don't know about how to go about getting it."

(And then - much of the time - I don't even know what I want.)

I feel polluted.  Perhaps something good will eventually come from that.