i'm slouchin at my cubicle listening to people talk about the problems they've created themselves.
i volunteer at a suicide hotline, so in some ways you could say it's the blind leading the blind
but i dunno what i'm doing

do you?

i think about the problems i've created for myself
i'm overwhelmed and crabby from life's mounting pressure
people are getting sick, people are dying, and all i can do is whine and listen to people whine

i've stopped talking to a lot of people because i realized how i let so many people treat me poorly because of how low my standards were
being alone is sad sometimes, but not as sad as being lonely
my definitions:
alone - no company
lonely - no companionship

i'm still holding up my wall of optimism but i feel like i built it too close to the ocean and in high tide my high hopes flow like sandy mud thru my weary fingers

but i'm not scared of the ocean

---

"I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray"
-Charles Bukowski, excerpt from "An Almost Made Up Poem"