This is not an exit. But it could be escape. For some sweet repreive. For others, fearful restraint. I got the news today. That I’ll be continuing in my transient state. Dreary, fleshy vessel. Waiting to wait. I’ve been told there’s nothing scarier than getting exactly what you want. But watching it pass you by, time after time must be pretty close. A butcher at his cutting board… Glaring blankly out toward the coast. Desperate, you can’t hope to leave… a distance you may never traverse. Everything under your fingertips has slipped passed. Solid ground never seems to last. It’s hot. I’m bored. And what is far worse… Is there’s a good chance I’ll probably still be here again next year. I just wanted out… But it seems once again… It was far too much to ask. But you can’t really request much, when failure is, has been and will remain your sole task.

There is noone to blame for this but me. So I’ll wash my hands, straighten my white collar shackles and smile politely back at mediocrity.