Of nothing in particular

Ah, the human condition, what is it exactly that makes us all live within the inane on most levels, and then have these subterranean lives that actually are what reflect the real desires. It's the Jekyll and Hyde, Fight Club, High Tension and the Number 23 thing. Because we all have these interior lives that sometimes bubble to the surface but otherwise wait for us at night or in a few quiet minutes of the day. Is it living a lie, is there ever satisfaction in what we have and not in what we hoped for or wanted or had dreamed of? I actually didn't have any picture of what the future would hold. I didn't and still don't have a plan, and I think that 's actually what's catching up with me now. I can't use my wily youthful charm to pull it off anymore. Soon I'll have to color my hair and wait another bunch of years to get it together and for what purpose, to tell my grand kids how it should be as they wait not so patiently for their twenty.