who knows

Lately I am more and more equal parts thrilled and baffleingly frozen by my own thoughts of the future. Not “the future” as in 2012 or George Jettson or aliens with ray-guns and psychic powers. Those all seems like tangible threats that my inner caveman can face up to and beat down with a big enough stick. I mean the future as in, what the hell is going to happen to me over the next 40 years, and am I fixing it or fucking it up now.

I’d expect that someone who’s been down the road I’ve traveled would already know what sign posts to look for, where it’s safe to cross the river and where to find the best place to relax under the sun. Hell, after the false-starts I’ve endured, you’d think I might as well be a camp counselor for growing up, but if anything, it’s made me more bat-shit confused about what’s actually supposed to happen.