Please, I want so badly for the good things to happen.

I am I-I am powerful, but to what extent? I am I.

And I identify too closely with my reading, with my writing.

I am disabused of all faith, and see too clearly.

Every day is precious and I feel infinitely sad at this time melting away from me.

And if you have no past or future which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you may as well dispose of the empty shell of present and commit suicide.

So much working, reading, thinking, living to do. A lifetime is not long enough. Nor youth to old age long enough. Immortality and permanence be damned. Sure I want them, but they are nonexistent, and won't matter when I rot underground. All I want to say is: I made the best of a mediocre job. It was a good fight while it lasted. And so life goes.