this is not the life that I want.

I'm not born to be an egotistical scholar or politician.

I'm not born to be an artist, a rebel, a singer, a rouser.

I'm neither.

I'm born just to die, quietly.

Just to look forward to something tomorrow I'll say I'm either

born to die quietly or born to die with a cataclysmic cry of

sadness from all the hypothetical fans out there!

But reality is somewhere in between.

Often if possible I'd say leading a quiet life is the most

meaningful. Nothing to fret about, nothing to laugh about, just

sit, and do nothing.

I hope. but hopes are hopes, and I can't seem to

keep quiet! I just can't. I have to vent it out somewhere.

Vent it out like I mean it to the person or with a frown that

pretends I'm sorry. That pretends to cover up what I'm about

to do. But I'm the only blind one at that point.

and where do I get the stress? the need to ventilate? and the

shameless embarassment that comes with that desire to

eng -work.

I work compulsively and then follow the hearts of make-believe

pleasure seekers in the end like I'm a machine  following the

"arbeiten, und lieben" phrase to its rock bottom.

I have to work, and work is what I'll do for the next month or so

but why am I here, where work is double the amount I can

handle with the normal amount of emotional suppression.

Freud said what people say means different things to different

people. Let's see whether "work and love" leads to happiness.

Nope. What Freud said was wrong; I'm not happy, I'm in hell.

The best that I got out of it, is, sadly, dullness.

"Macht arbeit Frei? Nein. Glueck ist in unser Herz."

=analyses. let hedonism rule..:)