Ugh. I am sucking at life. Because my attention is being caught by a hundred shiny things. Or my attention span is composed of a hundred shiny things. Twinkle twinkle. Any focus contained within me refracting (diffracting?) into a lot of little parts. Or maybe just mush. I'm either a bunch of sand or a pile of mashed potatoes. I vote to be mashed potatoes. With lots of butter. There, I feel better about myself.
I think this is because I am in between stages or chapters or whatever. That part can suck. Like what is ever between chapters, except maybe a page that says "Part II" or sometimes it's a nice picture, but usually it's nothing and dependent on the nice transition or narrative skill of the writer. MY LIFE HAS NO NARRATIVE SKILL.
This bridge hasn't really happened since that stage between high school and college. Here I am in what I've been doing and there, over yonder, is that future plan that will come to pass. Provided I am not run over by a bus. And then these past four years have been just floating around somewhere. But now the water is draining out and I feel like a pile of mashed potatoes.
When I know where I'm living, I'll feel like I've got butter, at least. And even garlic. If I had more money, I'd even be truffle oiled. But alas.
Uh. Yay metaphors.