...is not the end of the world.

I have recently been bombarded with my own mediocrity. This is not the mediocrity that MTV blugeons people over the head with, this is working class mediocrity. My hopes are no longer high for college. Despite the fact that I've been told I would go to college since very young, it never occured to me that family's that are predominantly working class do not usually end up going to college unless they work really hard.

Apparently I did not work hard enough.

A couple of weeks ago I dropped a couple of tabs of acid with a friend and we were at this massive park. I thought I saw ghosts wandering around the fields and it crossed my mind that these might be the embodiments of every person I could have been had I not chosen to revel in my mediocrity. Perhaps each of these apparitions was a destiny that I had rejected and thus let go into a realm of fuzzy and random molecular composition.

Or they might have just been tree branches.

I began to run across a field, but the strange thing was that I never began. The thought came and then I was running but I had never started. This is the problem with anything I could create. I can't just think it and expect to be real. My creative outlets are blocked by past memories and this is why I will never succeed as a writer.