[I am guessing what time it really is.] I am suddenly inspired by Borges and by Radiohead (I [am in] love [with] their song “Idioteque”). It is troubling that my life only became bearable when I [started fantasizing that] I was dying [from an indolent disease with a protracted course of illness] (although we [really] are all dying….) This allowed me to rest my mind and actually go to sleep content. I imagined the lengthy doctor’s visits and hospital stays, [spending my last days] tramping throughout the countryside, and maybe to the Old World. Give me an excuse to visit Rome and London. And I would write. How joyous that would be! But this is only assuming that my insurance would pay. I would hopefully get to die in a morphine haze.

What happened to me, that I cannot [seem to] manage my own Destiny? I feel as if I had been put on a frozen pond without skates, as merry revellers dance easily in circles around me, hand-in-hand. It is this that makes it seem madness is inevitable. I [find myself in a major depression] and I’m not sure I can really blame the seasons.

I would be willing to accept my powerlessness, but no one else seems to agree. I am willing to leave my Destiny up to the Fates, [to] God, [to] Random Change, or whoever, but other voices exhort me to take control of my life. I know that the pursuit of material things is hollow and empty, but I live in a society where [consumerism] has been elevated to a virtue.

I do not think I am like other egotistical men [although of course that’s exactly what an egotist would say] who believe that they are superior to their fellows, who struggle alone in arrogance, thinking that they need no one. No, for me, my egotism manifets thus: I know for a fact that I need other people, but [the people who happen to be around me] I find I despise…. I [can’t even really explicate why I] despise them either, only that other people make me nervous and I am often likely the one to be tossed out of a group. Am I truly scarred for life because I was always picked last for kickball? 😃

It is because I have had very few triumphs, I think. Very different from accomplishments. Accomplishments I can tally off… but triumphs, oh, they are rare.

Even for a day, or just a space of hours, no, even [just] minutes of savoring. I know the word triumphant connotes victory, and victory connotes conquest, but conquest over others is not what I mean. It is conquest over circumstance, especially if they are unfavorable. And not because you were lucky ([although] you probably were) and not because you [necessarily] knew what you were doing and you were able to master your Fate, but because you knelt before Fortune bravely, not knowing whether she would bless or curse you, yet willing to accept the consequences.

So in that way, one could triumph even in defeat, which may be why I [am fantasizing about] dying.

It’s like I’m driving down a desert roat, lost and confused, but then suddenly headlights appear in my rearview, and it’s a Corvette, but I’m driving a beatup old Tauraus, so I know there’s no point to racing, but I [slam] the accelerator [down] anyway, the Corvette speeds by on my left, crossing the yellow double lines, [the] driver muttering imprecations and/or [pointing] certain fingers [at me] and yet even in [obvious] defeat, I am barrelling [down] maybe 90 or 100 [mph], and yes there’s a rush of adrenaline and maybe endorphins, but I think there might be more to it, because I would remember such things fondly. But as always, the words escape me.

It is unfortunate that usually I can see the problem, but can never determine the solution, so I’m always caught in some metaphysical limbo, and I have become afraid to try—all I’m worried about is not being blmed, and all my actons are bereft of honor, and I slink away… a damned coward.

Dare I disturb the universe? It is easier to dream happily of death, let me float down the river Morphium into dark oblivion. I no longer know how to strive. My spirit is broken, and I’m not sure it can mend. I will be a spiritual cripple all my life, and I’m beginning to wish for shorter days, not longer, and I fear this will be the last triumphless Autumn I can bear, and if the next year should pass me by once more….

It is unfortunate that the religion that I was born to emphasizes the “don’t”s more than the “do”s, and even what “do”s there are, I’ve managed to circumvent. For I do not think I love myself very much, and therefore cannot hope to love anyone else either, and as far as I can tell, my only salvation is if by some miracle of Chance, someone might love me. I try to imagine the infite love of God… but [He is] far away, I have not met [Him], nor heard [Him] utter the words that I had fervently read once upon a time.

So I am lost at sea again, and at the point where I must make a decision—to scramble back desparately to the shore, by hook or crook, thought it begins to recede out of my vision, or to surrender finally, let the tide take me to the deep waters, where I can finally drown my sorrow. I was never good at making decisions. I’d rather just let the time run out.