As I sit in a speeding car, going so fast it seems almost unreal, bathed in foggy yellow light, I wonder if I live for the right things. If I am going in the right direction. And if I’ll only find out when it’s too late, and the golden years are gone and left behind.

Nowadays I can’t feel really happy anymore. I cry more easily at movies and film and theatre. I don’t find things all that funny. And occasionally when I scrunch up my face and laugh, I’m not even laughing inside.

I’m cynical, and skeptical, and I think all people are jerks. I think no one understands or cares to. I pounce on the smallest sliver of pessimism I pick up on and let it fester inside me.

I’m driven, I’m motivated, I’m going on and on, like a clockwork. But somehow I seem to have lost the reason or ability to feel, as I traverse this straight, straight road.