I don’t know why I am crying. Everything is going
wrong, but nothing specific. I have to destroy it all:
it is too vague to be localized. It is simply a matter
of weakness. I am weak where others are strong.
What they meet as a challenge, I find an impossible
obstacle. Everything is impossible. How they ease
into uncertainty, these people like me in every way
but one-- a matter of strength and weakness.
Contented people are a mystery. They have their
mild ennui, their major crises. They are not perfect.
But I envy them. If they cry, they at least have
a reason for it. They are rational beings.
I am a mess of things that make no sense
when paired together. An instance, an anecdote;
there is no continuity. I despise this shell of a
body, this slug of a mind.