In six months . . .

I will turn 31. In exactly six months to this date.

This feeling frightens me so.

I moved to California for a fresh start; for the possibility of renewal. Something, anything, or maybe just one thing . . . positive. Thus far, that has not happened. I am just as, if not more, despondent here in California than I was before I moved here from Texas. I have lost friends, been hurt by people I thought could be friends (or more), and find no comfort in anything but books and bottles. Unfortunately, they don't always go well together. I'm not sure what it is I'm doing anymore.

I'm getting old. I'm inadequate. Age will only make me more inadequate. I hate being so mediocre, but it seems the world won't allow me to be much else.