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Even like this, we are simply in the moment. The moment is not us.

The nagging is what bothers the most. It’s bad enough the feeling is there to start with, but that it’s practically ricocheting around in your system, letting you know it’s folly to even start just guts a body through. It’s like a loud dull thudding that hits all the buttons only You thought you knew. And it gets you when you are the most optimistic. When everything seems bathed in buttercups and yellow and golden sunshine. And isn’t it funny how this is precisely when everything starts going to shit? In every instance one can think of when something went unspeakably wrong, the moments that preceded it couldn’t have been brighter. Full of strawberries and ice cream. The way of life. One moment you are right as rain then the next you ARE the rain! Falling all into pieces, all over the place.

It had actually seemed bleak from the beginning like there was no way to sufficiently pull it off. Too much involved in terms of logistics, that can’t all be catered to….or something else. There was always something else. But round after round of self-motivation and presumably logical mental arguments and counter-arguments were starting to convince a fellow. And you look at the future with a measure of anticipation. Knowing, thinking really, that it might not be as hard.

But, then, that One thing happens. Something you hear, something you see, or what someone tells you, that pulls you back under the rubble. First comes the doubt. The stupid doubt. The selfish doubt. The MERCILESS, sinking boat that is doubt. Of course, you’re going to struggle with it. Of course, you’re gonna try to reason it all out, can’t have the same response all across the board right?

Of course, you’re going to lose.

The dread comes at you like a full-blown gale. A fellow wasn’t ready. A fellow wanted a notice. Buddy forgot to breathe. I mean he really wanted this. Yearned for it all his thought was bent on it. He could have shaped it with his mind if the thing were able. Alas, the water has filled up his nose, his throat, and his chest, and in front of his eyes, all is in gloom. There is no reward for the labours of his lungs. Tears flow in the middle of the sea that engulfs him. He is surrounded by everything, yet nothing. Grappling with great strength but his opponent could have been the air. Such effort did he put into the attainment of this thing. Such time, such labour, such earnest. And hope, you cruel conception….this is all your fault. Would that the universe could give it all back.

Maybe then it might feel less like a vacuum in here.

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