A new year begins with nothing to suggest it will be much unlike the last.I lie on the bed clutching at my mind and asking, what else could I be doing at this moment? What could I be doing that would make me feel better? What might make me feel whole? What do I want to be doing?
And I don't come up with a single answer.
I cannot identify my wants, except not to be where I am (but wherever I go, I'm here). I cannot identify my wants, except not to feel this eternal gnawing, this hole with rats on its edges chewing away at me. I cannot identify my wants except to be floating in a cloud of unexisting bliss.
I wonder, if the world was different would I feel any differently? If there was world peace, would I have peace inside of me? If people smiled at each other as they crossed the road instead of avoiding another human being's eye, would that give me a moment's quiet joy?
I cannot answer because I do not live in that world, and doubt that I ever will.
Tell me, anonymous people of Diaryland, what makes you get up in the morning? What gives you the will to survive? What, if you ever feel it, brings you joy?
