It's sort of as if you were depending on a that sturdy walking stick. Contact depending on the lightest of grip at the tip.

But even that wavers, like some comical rubber version of itself and my feet don't always touch the ground like they used to.

***

Where did my work ethic go? Along with the rest of the things I cared about. And I'm just slipping into complacency and triviality, having lost any sort of blind ambition or desire to be all the things that I can. Instead of those I need to be.

Blank. I've let myself go in more than one way, and let more than a few people drop from view for the same selfish reasons. Tiring. Who would have ever thought it would take so much effort to keep grounded.

I need to reel in the lines and nets I've let go to pot before they snap or I'm to stretched trying to keep them all together. Dissolved or floating away or both.

***

It's a series that I've been thinking about for years. I'll do it because I want to, not lying around as if it will serve itself to me on platter. The only thing that frightens me is that it feels vain. There are so many problems in the world, yet I end up trying to refract it internally.

Then again, the only thing I've learned is that the only subject I really know is me. And vain, I probably am, so I've been told.

Just when you think you have a grip on it, someone comes along to tell you just precisely how and where it all went wrong.

Keith