Choices

And yet again, I’ve allowed my ambition to exceed my potential.

Oh my mind is whirring, miles an hour, miles too fast. The faster my tires spin, the more I dig myself into this ethereal hole, the less coherent I am to others, the less controlled I am to myself. All I can express is symbolized in the dust and bits of gravel spat up by the futile spinning. As clearly as I understand my own thinking, as effortlessly and perfectly as I see the turning of my wheels, I’m afraid all others can see through this cloud of communicative dirt are mental steps 4, 17, 100, and the end result: I’ve dug my own grave. Logic, wit, these have all failed me, and I’ve been pressing on the gas so long that two months ago I was running on fumes, and now I’m afraid I’ve nothing left.

And yet, I’m finally going sane. Leaning on myself was never a reality, but now it isn’t even an illusion.

You have to break a horse before you saddle it. It is with a joyfully broken spirit I say I’m ready to submit and be trained.