Dear World: I am tired unto my marrow, as they say (whomever they are).

What I wish would happen, at about seven forty seven tonight, will not happen. No one is a mind reader.

This treble...waltz I am currently engaged in becomes wearisome, and swings from wild happiness to ridiculous anger. I am frankly at a loss; what does one do? so many paths, and only one really under one's control.

And I am a reflection of myself within myself, many many times over, focused down to the narrowest...me. And in this I am nothing. Every nick, every experience, every memory is ingrained in my very core like scales on a fish, making up the whole me as a skin. No one part can be excised without exposing another. So do forgive me my weaknesses, my insecurities, my absolute inability to be transparent. Forgive the fuck out of me.

What the hell was that?