Lost Journals

I think I've given up. As I look around my desk I see a picture of the bridge Sean proposed on, a picture of my quaint farmhouse, a list of schools mostly in New York that I want to attend, stacks of books that need to be read, journals that need to be catalogued, stacks of sad blues music and a cowboy hat that needs to have some fun.

How can I ask any man to contend with all these things? What man in his right mind would want to spend time in this place? It is where past and future goals collide. I do not live in any present moment. I'm always holding something back - either a recollection of the past or a wish for the future.