The List

To Whom it may concern,

I write to you from a position of weakness. I fnd myself mired in a sense of stagnation. Every time I look at the mountain it seems to be just as high as the last time I looked at it, yet I've worked to lessen that gap, and nothing happens. I have a list, and this list has on it some words. These words arrange themselves into a meaningful sentence that explains exactly how much pain, both mental and physical, is left before the walking of the clown shoes. The afore mentioned list, no matter how many times I am able to "strikethrough" elements within it, never seems to get any shorter. Is it me? Is there a medical reason for it? Or is it that I have a fucking boatload of work, and I'm just dragging my ass through it at subsonic speeds? Do I even care? Does any of it even exist? Shit balls.

So anyway, I've just noticed a paradox. By posting to this poor excuse of a blog, I've, in fact, taken away time from the completion of the list. It's like a snake eating his own tail, it tastes good until you get to the head.

Fuck my life.

Night.