I could not sleep a few nights ago and I wrote this in an effort to quiet my mind:

All things fall to the wayside, no matter how big or small. In this balancing act of life it feels as if everything will eventually slip through my fingertips. As I juggle, catching one thing, dropping another to make room for something that is about to pass me by, it feels as if all will eventually fall to the floor and break.

I want to play my guitar and become skilled enough to play it for others. I want to see my grandparents more often. I want to continue my career so that I may feed myself and my family. I want to start a family of my own. I want to respond to people in a timely manner when they reach out to me because I fear making others feel unseen and uncared for, but I also want to be left alone such that my psyche is not stretched thin trying to please everyone else. I want to be sober because I have never felt more in control of myself than I do now, and the feeling that I am driving a car which will break down or careen off of a cliff whenever I get high has grown pleasantly unfamiliar. Nonetheless, I miss the nostalgic feeling of relief and burst of creative motivation that came with smoking from time to time, and I worry that I may never develop enough control of myself to have a healthy relationship with substances and experience that again. I want my cake and I want to eat it too. And I fear that wanting so many things will leave me with none. Just a bunch of juggled objects that eventually fell to the floor and broke into millions of pieces. And I will turn myself inside out trying to eat my cake again and again.

A Klein Bottle of an existence.
A Möbius Strip of a man.
And an even worse juggler.