There's too much clutter in this room. Too many books and papers and past issues of Time magazine lying around, clothes strewn carelessly in one pile next to the clothes rack, jewellery boxes and stationery lying around on a table that's too small for any utility to begin with. Too much clutter in this room. I sleep in this room every night.
At a lunch time lecture last week the partner in charge said something along the lines of how lawyers are in the business of selling their time.
Maybe that's the problem - the hubris inherent in thinking you can attach a monetary value to time, that thing which is so blandly banal, and yet so crucially sacred. This time thing, I seem to be losing it. Not enough time on the weekdays, too much time on the weekends, and both ways I'm not doing anything with it. Not doing anything at all.
I sit here, feeling a tight constriction in my chest, feeling as if I'm losing my grip on everything about myself that I hold dear. No motivation, no action, just empty, meaningless talk. I wish I were different - better. I think I'm going to end up mundane and average, and as much as that thought depresses me enough to send me into histrionics, I'm inflicted with such paralysing inertia that I'm not, I can't, do anything about it.
I'm so goddamn sad.
Along a similar vein, I've forgotten how to rely on myself without recourse to an external party. That, I think, is deeply detrimental. That is also one of the ills of being in a relationship - you lose your independence, become dependent on the other party, and in so doing, forget that, at the heart of it, he's only human.
I just wish I knew how to do this. But I don't.
Fundamentally, the problem is this: I know how to exist. But I don't know how to live.
I've played more tennis than I've watched in recent times, and so I'm really quite upset that I no longer have the luxury of waking up at 3 in the morning to catch Roger Federer live on TV.
Before today I'd been feeling rather testy. I don't know why. I'm just tired of everything.
I'm tired of myself.
At times like now, I almost think I need some form of psychiatric help.