Maybe it’s that I’m pre-menstral, or that I’ve caught a cold, which thankfully hopefully I’m over the hump, but I feel old. I feel old and lost and desperate comes to mind. I mean who am I? My dreams have slipped through my wrinkled double jointed fingers. How many years do i really think I can keep up this sharade. Parading around as if I’m this troubled tormented artist. I don’t make art. I look at others peoples art and wish I could do that. I perform in store front theatre and obsolete indie films. The half of which aren’t ever going to be seen by anyone or ever reproduced. It’s rough. I’m too embarrassed of my dreams, bc I’ve failed to achieve them. Maybe I’m too dumb. I’m too average. Hey, not everyone can make it. God damnit! I hate who I’ve become, I hate putting a time limit on my life, but I suppose i need to find a career I’m good at, because I’m not good enough for this one. Life goes on.