the world a letter

Oh, I beg to differ. ;-)
 

So wise, Stuart.

But really, tell us something anyway.
 

No I mean I look back and I'm not who I thought I was--almost like I was the exact opposite, freakishly neat that way. What am I trying to do with my life? Why am I always trying so hard? It doesn't make sense to me, is all.

So all I mean is all the things I try to figure out and all, the questions really just set up the answers in the long run, and collapse on themselves, leaving nothing. A whole lifetime. I'd rather just not bother, and play with my daughter. Something like that.

It doesn't help that it's been almost 6 years since I left Utah, supposedly temporarily. All that trying, I don't even get why.

Most of my old (grade school, high school, college) friends are making absurd amounts of money, either doctors or in computers. I decided that wasn't worth my time. I'm not saying I would like to have done that sort of work for a living (the money looks nice, though), just that I don't see what I was holding against it so strongly. Just the holding itself, I suppose.
 

I get that feeling quite often, and I find it easy to second guess almost every decision I've made (especially school/carreer-wise). But it's silly, really. I "wasted" 2 and half years in California because I decided I "wasn't into" the whole adjuncting and doing what I might need to do to get a teaching job.

But, as Beckett tells us endlessly, it goes on.

Just out of curiosity, though, what's in Utah that you're ancy to get back to? The MFA? Why? You're writing great poems.

End of nosiness.
 

I've been there, Stuart. Although, I've never been to Utah . Unfortunately I don't have any sage advice, just the usual cliches. For what it's worth I think you're great.
 

Thank you, that's kind. I don't mean I need consolation though--just, I don't understand why I've made the decisions I've made, I mean the decisions so large they don't feel like decisions--just seems so silly, like what's the point? I don't mean I even have any affect towards them except astonishment, they just seem so pointless. Like telling yourself secrets.

As far as Utah goes: after I graduated from NYU we went to UMass-Amherst; Dara pregnant, I for a phd in lit (shakespeare was going to be my dissertation, eventually). I was unhappy there--I couldn't think straight, and never had enough time or energy to focus. I thought it was the program, and went to Utah for a phd in creative writing. By the end of the first semester I couldn't get out of bed I was so weak and miserable. The diagnoses were far and wide and unhelpful. After a few months we moved back to NJ, to be near the grandparents. And so began the next part of my life, the recovering-from-cfs part.
 

then you're on the path to wisdom, brother!
 

Well, I suppose maybe.