2007-03-23 - 8:41 p.m.

I am so frustrated with myself these days that I can't even stand to spend time with myself at all. Which makes things a bit uneasy at my house, to say the least. I can't even really say what is frustrating me so damn much. I could say a bit of it, but the rest is like the underwater part of an iceberg - unknown, dark, old, cold, layered, complicated.

I'm restless. I have no plans. I have too many plans.

I have too much to do. I do too little.

I'm too hard on myself. I'm too easy on myself.

I have no direction. I have the wrong direction.

I'm too big. I'm too small.

I'm too young. I'm too old.

There's too many people. There's not enough of the right people.

If I do not do what I am supposed to do soon, I will crack. My belly will break open. Breaking is what I am supposed to do.

Resistance is futile. I hang onto resistance as my last friend. My fragile nails chip and crack with the strain, my hands stiffen and ache, but I
refuse
to
let
go.

Breaking might be the only way out.
Falling might be good.

(Do not be alarmed: I am fine.)

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