Lately I can’t seem to stop thinking about all of the things I regret. Sometimes my own thoughts make me feel almost paralyzed, crippled. But it’s a strange paralysis, one in which I just keep going through the motions but in a sort of haze. Inertia? I don’t know if I’m on the right path and I’m afraid.
How did I get here? What am I looking for?
I can’t stop thinking about the past when what I should be doing is looking to the future.
I particularly like this line from Hemingway to his wife Mary:
“Please write me Pickle. If it were a job you had to do you’d do it. It’s tough as hell without you and I’m doing it straight but I miss you so [I] could die. If anything happened to you I’d die the way an animal will die in the Zoo if something happens to his mate.”