I know...

....how much of a bummer I've been lately.
{note to self: In all future reference to the bad days: Drop the word, "bummer."}

I'm sorry to say, it was inevitable. I try too hard, I know.
I fear explaining myself.

Honesty, impels me to just be myself.

All I can do, as I wander 'round, is hope for understanding.

It's not your problem...

..if I hate myself and where I am and swallow myself up with where I could be and wish that those who claim their love for me, consistently show it by making me feel smaller than they are.

That's the crux of my absence here.

I don't know, anymore, who I am.
I know, I don't like who I've become.

I'm back to that valueless place I was months ago...

...holding on. Wishing, with all my Heart,

I were somewhere

Else.

[I don't know when you'll see another post from me.

The Sugasm will have to do, for a bit. (a poem..a poem. That's all.)

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x,adam2*1/2 ~note: "...quiet desperation." is an original, new poem. It is written w/the writer, John Cheever in mind~particularly, his Short Stories of Suburbia, where the main, male characters, are always riding the Train. My Father was a Conductor, on the Long Island Rail Road & a Chief of the Fire Department. The title, is a steal: ..Men, living lives of quiet desperation.

I suppose, in Uncertain Times, we try to explain to Ourselves where we've been. And, yet, as little as we know, we also try to make sense of where the connections lie. Our History is not individual, you see...The Train rolls on and we take from it, hopefully, what is best.
Only, the best of Us, as family.