The Fine Art of Falling Apart

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About

This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

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I'm Gish. I guess this is what one can call the remnants of a pre-mid-life crisis. I listen to too much music and read too many books, and it all means nothing. Abrasive, I smoke too much, drink too much coffee and hardly sleep. Alive. Be sure to check out the new links to blogs, photos, music and other sorts of good stuff at the very bottom of the page.

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Stamped: 1:35 PM

adjust my night time eyes to see you swim as ancient swimmers did...
ok, I give. I'm in a bit of a funk. I can feel it getting worse as I jump from idea to idea. I think I'm ready to leave the Arctic, or my job, more specifically. I'm not feeling challenged enough and need more to keep my brain busy most days.

And I miss who I used to be, when I lived down south. Not to say that I would stick around there either after a few months, but I'm ready for another change. For some reason that I haven't figured out yet, I need to move around and start new things. Something new and exciting. Whatever.

Instead, I'm here. Stuck in the afternoon gloom, without a real end in sight. I don't do so well without structure and boundaries.
I'm just blah.

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