Sometimes, when I have difficult concepts to explain, I like to think I can just dump them on here and the people who really matter in my life will choose to see them, and then divine my meaning from whatever broad analogies and vague imagery I choose to employ at the precise moment of writing.

It occurred to me last night that a general condition I should be placing on all of my actions (or inactions, as may more than likely be the perceived case) is that I have no idea what the fuck is going on.

This is less an inevitable concession to the necessity of something resembling Socratic ignorance, and more a reluctant acceptance of confusion surrounding simple things like where a blue undershirt might be hiding or why someone is acting differently toward me. If they are, in fact, acting differently toward me at all.

It is the present condition of my existence. Logically and hopefully, a temporary one. But I can’t be certain about that.

July has been a hectic month. And it certainly won’t let up before it’s over.

My goal has simply been not to fuck it up too bad.

But I have a history of unrealistic and unachieved goals.