I laid awake in bed last night for a while just sitting with a feeling of disappointment in myself—wishing I was an artist. I felt deep loss and regret for something I never achieved. Impotence and desire make despair. Swallow it. Move on. Be happy that art and beauty exist elsewhere.
I don't think I will attend Saint John's College. I think I'm going to look into trades—welding, pipefitting, carpentry, or something to that effect.
Every time I open my damn mouth everything changes.
"Men make plans; God laughs." A Yiddish proverb I read this morning in a new article.
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In alchemy, the soul is the philosopher's stone. It is the soul that creates value from base things. It is we who create meaning from worthlessness.
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