If I had a superpower, it’d be self-sabotage.
I prefer to think of it that way instead of “epic self-destructive device.”
The reach of this power? Knows no bounds.
Relationships with other humans? Bam.
Burgeoning life as an academic? Kazam!
Writing what I love simply for the joy? Oh, yeah. I’ve fucked that up, too.
I used to think that being conscious of a problem, of a default in one’s behavior, would ipso facto lead to its demise.
See something, say something, stop it.
But, ah, alas. It ain’t so.
No, I go right on Gojira-ing through my daily freaking life,
Taking one self-inflicted body blow after another
And yet still: these patterns? I can’t break.
Suffice it to say, I am a general fuck-up.
I’d like to stop thank you now please.