No hour is ever eternity, but it has its own right to weep.

- Zora Neale Hurston

(by way of Peter Orner)

Watching the leaves and trash blow down the tracks and the light shrink down the walls fills me with dread. (But then, what doesn't?) I'm plagued by the thought that my hopes are unachievable, that I'll never get myself worked out in time. (In time for what?) Trouble with small goals seems to prescie failure at big ones, pointing to a future where I never achieve anything. A break soon, please.