the road will rise up to meet me. i'm not Irish, but i'm human. i can't help but think, whether i'm laying on my stomach or face to the ceiling: when will the good comes to those who wait? speaking at a couple of lengths in particular, i can't help but think how events happen to people in general. who knows how i'll feel when i wake up, what news will break and meet me, how time will pass, or when i'll have a thought worthwhile. the thing i should fear the most - death - i don't. the thing i shouldn't dwell upon a second more - i do. is it any use to try to revert my attention... could i if i tried? i feel better sleeping with my bible on one of my nightstands. is it another stage, or am i already returning to my old ways? i can't help but hope so..... perhaps i'm going back in time. somedays, lately - i feel timeless. other days, i feel like an enemy of good ol' time. courage has become so foreign, rising up makes me feel like my body is made simply of tissue... no bone, no muscle. mistake no more.

my other gripes have become so college-graduate cliche. i've only applied for the (what feels like) hundredth job posting. i'm monitoring my mags of choice like a secret service, and my leads just turn to dust. somehow, those Irish know how to calm a soul.... because all i have to tell myself - every morning and night - is, 'let the road rise to meet you.' so i wait for what wants to meet me, and who, and i'll worry about the rest when the road has risen.