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.

Screw MySpace . . .

While I'm happy to be rid of my MySpace profile I don't hasten to admit my addiction for the narcissistic glee which comes with posting one's woes on a daily basis. But here I know I have the luxury of anonymity. No one will find me. Mostly because no one is looking for me.

I am at my most despondent. I feel worse now than I have in a long time. I feel used, lied to, and as always, inadequate. Not good enough for much of anything.

I forewarn any who stumble upon this blog. For as long as I am around, it will be used for lamentations and at other times it will burst with brilliance. Or so I will tell myself. I like to share insights on political happenings, my readings, and my generally diminishing opinion of the human animal. And I also just like to rant. So don't expect too much. It is, after all, a blog.