Weary

I appear to be at war. The enemy is myself.

It seems as if any time something is advancing in the correct direction, that progress is being made to fix what has been broken, I work against myself to undo it. I fall prey to the time-tested folly of overthinking the problem. If I could take a step, perhaps two, away from the situation at hand, perhaps I could generate more success.

That's not me. I get in the midst of it, I get my hands dirty, and shit blows up in my face. Every. God. Damn. Time. I keep hoping this will be an exception to the rule, and maybe it is. I keep imagining myself three months down the line, looking back at this precariously dangerous time in my life, and sighing. Feeling the calm warmth of assuredness trickle down the length of my body. You know the feeling. The feeling of safety, of comfort. Right now, nothing is safe, and I'm comfortable only in few instances.

Anyway, this entry shouldn't be entirely ambiguous, passive-aggressive angst. I'm just thoroughly disappointed in myself and terrified of the future my actions may have wrought.

I ended up doing rather well on the placement testing. I'm enrolled and it appears as if my financial grants will be more than sufficient to cover my first semester back as a student. This gives me hope.

Zoo plans were once again postponed on account of work interrupting. We are scheduled to go tomorrow. If we don't, I will despair.

Storm clouds. Dark days. A swift wind threatens the sapling, bears down on it with gale force. I stand astride the weak thing, arms outstretched, resolve etched across my face. Failure has touched this heart and mind too many times. It has become a companion. I shake my head against the stinging rain and wailing winds. No. This is not how this story ends. No. This is just how it begins. NO. I will not falter again. I inhale sharply as the storm threatens to consume me. The terrors will be out again tonight. I must not fear. I must not fear.