This itch won't go away. Intensify, subside, good day, bad day, repeat, but it's always there, inescapable, nagging, pulling, prodding, poking, begging for a scratch. Solitary days and nights spent thinking, restless and desperate, passively searching for self, not a sympathetic ear to hear. No more waiting - the time has come to find self, to take action, to stop waiting for something to happen, waiting for someone to understand. No more wasted hours, weeks, months. Each moment must be savored, no complaining, no excuses. We must forge our own paths. We must force our dreams into truth. State, country, and world are waiting to be conquered. If alone seems all there is, then alone it must be. Why not now? Why not today?

"Wesson was one of those men who had passed his days waiting for the rest of his life to come about. He busied himself with his work, never marrying, and doted on the children of his customers. 'Something's bound to happen soon,' he would often say at the end of a conversation, and there was a quickness to his eyes that demonstrated his implicit faith in the proposition. When his mother died, this faith seemed to abandon him. He went home each evening to the small house that they had shared, shuffling cards of paging through a magazine until he fell asleep. Though he never failed to laugh when a customer was at hand, they eyes he wore became empty and white,as if some essential fire in them had been spent. His enthusiasm began to seem like desperation. It was only a matter of time."
-excerpt from "The Ceiling" by Kevin Brockmeier

image created and provided by Kian Stewart