Harder and Harder to Breathe

I've been spending a lot of time with old Darwin's Kids raw footage this week, searching for stuff for our reunion in May, getting ready to patch together some treats for the DVD. And I return to an old state of mind.

Four years later? I am quite a pitiful thing.

I do not like what I'm doing with my life. I preferred life then. And I don't know how the fuck I can get life to be anything better than this, anything even vaguely similar to what it was then. There is a shortage of resources for doing the things I love, and the jobs that would allow me access to those resources are snatched up by the children of those who have it already, by the connected and well-born. And of course, by the lucky. And of course, by the charming.

One of which, I am not.

I don't know how to get there from here. I'm out of tricks and schemes. I'm out of ideas. I can't think of anything I want to write, because I have faith in none of it. None of it will get me out of this cage.

I'm poor, and I'll always be poor. I'll always work a lousy job to pay the bills, and I'll always get tired and bored and frustrated with it, I will never love or even tolerate it. I will not get ahead in that job, and the disappointment and frustration with it will be added to my disappointment and frustration with life, adding frustration and disappointment to frustration and disappointment. I will be forever frustrated and disappointed. What kind of person is that? One whose company will never be desired, one who will enjoy the company of no-one.

I have no desire to speak, because all I know of desire, is terrible how it feels when it is frustrated. In my profession. In my affections.

I just want to catch a break, so I can breathe.

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