The scope of my ambitions can never be contained with words. Nor can my actions ever catch it.

Thinking of all the time I wasted, I go crazy. I've only got forward to look. Backwards is always just so.

Time passed is opportunity wasted. Every decision is the denial of choice. Every action is the annhilation of the freedom to act. Ticking clocks chase tapping shoes along the path toward the future where something looms, and despite all my ambitions it seems far far away.

So far away.

 

Sometimes I wish I could thrust myself forward in time. Fast forward, or rewind. Undo and do everything. Live a perfect life. What does that mean? Didn't it take every action and inaction to make me into myself? Do I prefer it this way? Who would survive the rearranging of my life; it would not be me.

I had a friend request. It was from someone named Deirdre. It wasn't anyone I ever knew and I denied it. But it made me laugh or just smile. Some sick joke or coincidence. Just like everything it's a roll of the dice every moment. You can only position your chips. Sometimes you are only the spectator. Sometimes you can't even see the whole game. Are we pressing for knowledge? Are we just trying to get to the other end of the craps table? It's all the same random chance there as it is here.

Hah. Screw the cynicism and the obtuse conjectural bullcrap. What I mean is this: I want everything in the world, and now I have to go get it.