What dreams may come…

It’s been a strange few days. I haven’t felt this disconnected in a while. Morbidly detached. Going through the motions. Knowing that all that I have on my plate will quite quickly dissipate into insignificance soon enough only to be replaced with a fresh set of challenges. I don’t really mind that at all. It feels like progress in some morbid way, knowing that I’ve overcome some challenges and realising that I will be faced with new ones soon enough.

The lull never lasts. It’s as if I’m destined to be challenged at every stage of my life, and the only thoughts that keep me sane is that I know I’ve overcome worse before, and I convince myself that every challenge that I overcome is a preparation for something greater. My education at the hands of life has been invaluable, and there’s not a single book, article, or class I could have taken at any point that would have prepared me in any way for what I’ve had to contend with so far. 

No amount of study or reading would have prepared me for a life with a borderline violent psychotic, or the unexpected death of a loved one, or the estrangement of a child, or the harrowing helplessness of unemployment when I had loved ones that depended on me to take care of them. Nothing could prepare me for betrayal. Nothing could prepare me for life. The only thing I could do was ensure that I…never mind…this all seems pointless…reflecting like this…regurgitating the day’s insanity in the hope that I’ll be able to construct something meaningful out of the senselessness of so much. I can’t. Perhaps I just don’t want to right now. Perhaps I’m just hoping for an endearing response from a significant other that doesn’t exist…perhaps I’m just…

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