What am I supposed to write? Why am I supposed to write? Really, what do I have to say? Commentary on the distresses of life; is there not enough negativity? Perhaps, there is so much negativity that positive commentary would evoke a ridiculous opinion of me for the entertainment of negativity.

I feel tired. Tired of being tired and everyone feeling tired. I'm of an age when wisdom's voice yells at every situation that was once blessed with immaturity's ignorance. But I am not old enough to sustain each moment of learning with the patience required to fully accept that it is part of my life's education, and I suffer through the loss of ability to have any excuses. Nothing is unattainable. It is the waiting for that realization that is unbearable.

I envy those who no longer wait and are complacent in their knowledge. They are my teachers, if briefly, as I must continue on to the next experience. I wish there was

another personality I could choose while I attempt to accept mine. Perhaps, I will never know what I'm supposed to be. I only know that I yearn for the knowledge, the words that explain, and hope they ignite my soul's voice to tell me, "This is what I was meant to be, to do.”

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