I was happy for about 15 minutes when for some reason the dark clouds of despair overcame me, leaving me a little pissed off, and very bitter.

The main problem is that, these days, I really don’t know what I want. No, that’s not strictly true. The problem is that I know exactly what I want, but I can’t seem to figure out how to get it.

We will, of course, leave specifics out of this.

In many ways, I feel like I’m emerging from a fog. I have been buried in work for the past month, literally up to my arms and knees in it, and I haven’t had any chance at all to live even a quasi-normal life. The last time I had a coherent non-work-related thought, it was still summer, and now all of the sudden, here we are at the break of autumn. I am beginning to hate how quickly time goes.

At the same time, I realize that my anti-social tendencies will get me nowhere fast.

I don’t know. Ultimately, the problem seems to be that I can’t find the path to least resistance. I feel (and I know this is odd) like a river that has been dammed.

The other thing is that I recognize a lot of my insecurity lies in the fact that, even at this late stage in the game, my life is still provisional. Oh, sure, I’m kind of doing what I want to be doing with my life, but it still isn’t it (whatever it maybe.) Fact of the matter is that I have no fucking clue what I’ll be doing two years from now, except that it won’t be what I’m doing now.

This feeling of transience, this sensation of being unmoored, is really getting to me.

I’ve been reading Many Worlds out of One which is about how the Theory of Inflation basically leads to a universe so expansive that it contains not only everything that we can observe, but every possible variation, combination, and sequential history of everything that we can observe. (In other words, there are 10¹⁰⁰¹⁰⁰ versions of any one thing, each one marginally different from the other only due to the vagaries of quantum uncertainty.)

I had this bizarre moment where I sensed that every time I moved, all googleplex of my clones and quasi-clones moved almost exactly like I did, each in their own particular region of space. This quickly made me tired.

I remember going to sleep with this creepy feeling that all this infinity is out there, and it’s populated with different versions of me (not to mention everybody else who ever existed.)

Although I suppose this has always been my pathetic fantasy. Somewhere out there in the vast infinity that is our universe is a version of me who is actually happy. I guess knowing that will have to suffice.

It’s been a long time since I’ve hoped for anything, and I’m not about to start now.