Something to Write About

I have no plan. My life lacks any discernible direction. I have not laid out any goals or future targets to shoot at. No course has been selected. I am rudderless.

Where am I going? What do I want for this life?

Has my life become nothing more than marking off days? I remember having dreams. Now, I have none. Holy shit, this is something I didn’t need to mull over tonight, but then again, this is definitely something I need to address.

Where do I want to go? What do I want to do?

It’s fair to say that I have picked myself up off the ground. I’ve dusted off my clothes and have done the best I can to straighten myself out. It’s not enough that I have “survived” to this point; I have to get my ass to work at the business of living.

I will resist the temptation to rip myself to pieces. I could declare myself a lazy no-good shit who is content to coast, satisfied just to be breathing. I could tear myself a new asshole over the fact that I am a first rate pussy. I could do those things and more (believe me, there’s more), but I won’t.

Instead, I will draw a line right here and step over it. Everything behind me, behind that line, is done with, over. Now I must--MUST--face forward and decide what I will do with this life of mine.

So. What’s it going to be, Bucko? What are you going to do? Are you going to continue with your pathetic life of avoidance and denial, or are you going to suck it up and set your wretched little butt into action?

This is a prologue.