true to form, I have procrastinated thinking about the past year. I have also procrastinated thinking about the upcoming year. in short, I am, once again, ill-prepared for life.

without resorting to 5-minute psychiatric consults, or blaming various parts of my neuroanatomy for the state I'm in, I can't help but wonder what it is I should be doing with this space. Not just, literally, this webspace that I am profusely cluttering up with my endless blather, but the space around me. the world I inhabit, in both the personal and universal realms.

(iTunes just spun up some Sigur Rós. thoughts of Iceland come unbidden, despite the fact that I've never even come within a thousand miles of Reykjavik. God. I am so random.)

I just can't keep things in order. the room I am staying in in my parent's house is an absolute disaster area, like someone had decided to take a leafblower and wave it around to see where everything would fly off to. (oooh. I think I hurt myself trying to think of a simile and coming up short.) I can't keep my mind clear, my thoughts neatly arrayed. meta-discourse and prose fiction mingle freely, undistinguishable. despite the fact that I'm baring my psychological profile for all the world to see, I have no idea what I'm doing or what I'm about.

I don't know why I keep writing this drek, only knowing that I must.

I suppose that's a good enough reason as any.

God save me from getting caught in the recursive loop of endless navel-gazing.