Shelf Of Issues

I don’t know what functional looks like right now. I’m taking the walls of the pit to find a way out. There is no out. Prepare for an onslaught of allegories:

Instead of feeling stable, I feel like there are issues that just get stashed on a shelf somewhere out of sight to promote the impression of not being overloaded. There’s no argument that the stashy is not s solution by any stretch. It’s not even a temporary anything.

Who am I right now? There’s a bunch of different personas colliding in here. Vicarious and pragmatic alike, with a sprinkling of ardent skeptics and jubilant idiots. I don’t know what to make of the lot and their shouting. Who emerges… the ambiguity of leadership falls in line with the rest of my reality.

I don’t know. I think that’s the real deal right now. I don’t fucking know what I’m doing or who I’m failing at trying to be. Am I this adaptable fellow? He’s all bendy and detached from concern. Do I have my “scrutinize the fuzzy shit out if this” pants on? I don’t much like those pants now that I have them on. Have you ever felt utterly lost in trying to understand who you are?

I do admire that adaptability I seem to be warmed beside the glow of. Hopefully it also doesn’t destroy me.

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