Since the road hit a dead stop I’ve been staring into the chasm. Blocked after all this time, but it took a fork in the road to get here. Part of me is grateful that it’s over, but I didn’t expect the turn.
What I invested paid itself back with interest and now I can’t look at you the same way. I wonder if I ever saw the truth at all, or whether this meandering stretch of open road was just a necessary detour. It really does all lead back to me.
I’m not happy with my life and should be even more dissatisfied with my ambition, because it’s so great there’s never a clear step to take. You need to break a goal down into manageable chunks, but I don’t look for goals. I want to be the orchestrator.
Visualise the perfect day. That was in vogue once, but I can’t. I can’t fix an image to my ambition, or boil it down to a series of tasks. I expect more than that, but what constitutes more eludes me. You see, it’s not just ambition. I want it all. Everything.
The twelve labours are complete, but it feels like that’s just the first step. Sleeping beauty has heard the alarm and I’ve got my entire being back. Once again I stare down the looming spectre of all I could be and I realise, the hunger is renewed.