Stream of Conscience I

I have a sense of rightful failure about me. I seem to mess up more than I succeed; regardless, this exemplifies me. I have a sense of right and wrong skewered by the pictures and events thrown hastily onto canvas screens. I see actions in levels of dramatics. I see beautiful colors of people-- people who no doubt see the world shaded by camera lights and makeup. This overly romantic vision of the world keeps whispering to me what to do, what to say, what to feel, what to think... and I do it. And it feels right--scratch that--it is right to me. But I do slip up and yet, no matter what I do, I find myself wishing it were raining just so I could stand outside and soak the water up to remember it forever; I find myself wanting to wallow in my failures. There's this nagging suspicion that won't leave me alone tonight. It seems like everything I try to do never seems to turn out right.

This inexplicable emotion seems to amass a sea of misfortune around me, never at the correct time, and always without proper warning. No matter what I do, it is always wrong; no matter how I do it, it can't turn out right. I live each day as ignorant as the last; the past day's lessons already lost. Despite all this I cannot seem to find a way to correct this feeling--my dreams dictate to me the ways to act, and I follow them, because it is how I have envisioned the world my entire life. I cannot change now I tell myself; for this is right.