I'm so tired of all of this
I'm so tired of being eaten alive by my fears which incubate inside of me and tell me I'm no good.
I'm so tired of being average at everything I put my hand to including writing this and telling myself
It'll be okay in the morning when I feel like a fraud. I'm so tired of not having a decent job or a place to call my own, or any prospects for the future. Of giving people my laptop and they don't respect it and they don't fix it completely. Of reading books all day with no answers in them and getting no replies from women. Of getting older and worn down and losing energy by the year. I want to settle down before any of this carries on, but the day won't stop running on. My mother keeps getting sicker and I keep getting older and I keep losing more energy. The girl I love is this side, but my career is that side. What do I make of all of this? Last night I saw myself as a young strong romantic, and this morning all hope seems to have migrated. I wake up with a dream where Robin Sharma tells me; nah, past 30 is too late. That is my inner critic telling me that, not Robin Sharma. That is someone inside of me trying to tell me they know me better than myself. Or maybe it's the devil and I shouldn't cozy up to the devil. The feeling of failure is all around. Now I remember why I do not want to masturbate. Now I remember the facts. Just breaking myself down for an instant high. And look, I cannot do this to myself any longer: Making others to be idiots and I'm the best. It's kinda crippling to my health. I've got to move forward with efficiency and grace. I've got to know my weak points. Living with my mom ain't so grand. She fucked herself up for something so silly that it doesn't even make sense. Yet these are the people we love, and we have to show them grace. These are the ones who matter. Without family we have nothing; we can't trust ourselves. I can't carry on masturbating though, this is going to kill me in the end. These deadly habits, but it's because I'm stressed; and why am I stressed? Because I try to control everyone and everything around me. I don't see it, but I'm like that clingy image of a grandmother that I keep seeing. I am just like that dry, clingy Russie I keep despising. I need to work; need to get a job, but my computer keeps being broken; and it's frustrating. I must take it straight back, otherwise I'm going to freak out again, because the man who works from home needs a computer. The man who works from home is lost without his computer. I feel icky and yuck after last night; being everything I shouldn't have been, and after such a good, wholesome round. Ammunition to keep me humble; to keep me from thinking I'm perfect and everyone else is dirt. Ammunition to help me on my way. I should be relieved and happy, for my goal has been reached: Listen, there's a hell of a good universe next door, let's go. I feel the poet growing within me. I feel the urge to write and to live and to be a free human being where I've been couped up for so long. I got so mad with Cheryl yesterday for asking me why I was taking pictures of flowers; I got so mad and went to my room, and held my head in sorrow. I've got digestive issues and I can't really find a way to cure them. Same as this girl; isn't it cute? An addiction keeps getting me down, keeps ripping me sideways. Keeps making me think I might be insane. An addiction keeps me hoping for more. Keeps saying I can dig myself out. Keeps questioning reality. Too many things on the go. Too much happening and nothing changing. I need to get healthy again. To slide on a yoga mat. Too much of the cerebral activity with no rest. I need to rest. Recover. These last few weeks have been an ordeal and then some. There has to be hope though; even in these dark corridors, there has to be hope. There must be somewhere to go to find the answers to our impulsive ends. Yesterday I decided that I need new human connections. I need a home; and of course our home is not here; so we have to be tough. I want to be a leader like Darren. I want to look like I have everything under control. I want to have some level of control even as things are falling apart in the world. I want to be a technician. You do what needs to be done and you let the rest handle itself. This is kind of what I've been doing. I see people crumbling around me with no answers in sight, it's rather scary. But do not lose hope; now is an opportunity for me to shine and to show courage in the heart of darkness. As everyone else fades and wilts away, I must remain strong. I can't write to her again. The one truth overrides the other. I can't write to her again, I must write to her again. The one truth cancels out the other and doesn't stand any longer. I have to feel my way toward sanity first. Feel my way toward the opening that let's me breath. I don't know why I am often so afraid of water. We spend so much of out time under water, and so many years holding back our feelings and our dreams. We feel like we're drowning most of the time and then the release; Then the moment where we're sanctified, vindicated, where anything feels possible. I have these moments a lot too. Last night I was looking at myself as some beautiful renaissance child. This morning I wake up with a horrible dream and in that dream someone telling me I'm no good at 30. Someone has got to be taken at face value. Who is this intruder? This imp? He is not the real Rob Sherma! And doesn't he know that everything is malleable in this life? That we're given so many opportunities and so many gifts and that we're infinite? One day can change everything says God, so who is this fake Rob Sherma to tell me my fortune? We have so much potential the two of us: We have rough edges, we have things that make us difficult to get along with, but we have a sense of respect and we understand love, and nothing can be better than that. The thing that's eating my respect for women is my masturbation habit. It has to be stopped. It leaves me waking up unambitious; unfeeling; dead. I've got to get moving and give up this habit for good. I know I can. It's a part of me that I think I'm in control of but most times, when it comes it's in control of me. I ask that God deals with it in the best way possible, because I can't go on backtracking on my promises to myself and to others and most of all my God. I have messed up so many times, but in all of this there is hope and a thin cord of light in the darkness: I am not perfect, and I must remember this. I am not perfect, and God is the only perfect one, and I must seek his example if I am to be saved. I must run after God, not after man and all his promises. I am a fader in the world of perfection always a fader, but not a failure in the broader sense. He has redeemed me forever from failure, and this I will never be. This is not the end, my beautiful friend. I will have many more successful battles, and Cheryl is right: I need to listen to my heart. No more head thinking. No more thinking that my logic is in control. There are people with feelings and worlds I haven't even begun to understand. There are people I am yet to meet and careers that I haven't even dreamt of. Let us not place all our faith in the future, but rather let us be healthy and centered on God and His values. Madmen have come and gone, but that is not our fate. I want to live in the light. I want to know what I'm doing. The light let's me know what I'm doing. The darkness keeps me running up and down from pleasure to pleasure and nervous tension and release, and nothing gets accomplished. I am tired of hoochie mamas and their big legs sticking out. I need to think of solid women and what that means. I don't want the legs and no woman. I want all woman and some legs, but not all legs and no product. You have to live and you have to give, and you have to let Jesus wrestle them out of the way. It's a terrible thing to wake up so early in the morning to a computer. There must be a better way, otherwise I'll just have to throw it in a river somewhere. Black people have the answer. Who is more sobreminded than a black guy like Joel Kalipi. He is a man about town. He has respect and love in his heart for others. He has shown me through is kindness what it means to be a man. These other insipid whites like Rodney Hanson are a lesser strain. They don't make any sense at all. No humilty, just lies piled on lies. Just egoes fluttering in the wind and an insipid voice to go along with it. Maybe that's what people want though? Insipid men who have no direction in life. At least, as my mother would say, he went for what he wanted. He didn't hold back on his dreams or belief in himself. He was also gifted this in school though. I had to fight for mine. No one wanted to know my troubles. I'd come back home and build my own world from fantasy. Many tmes masturbation. Many times the wrong kind of thing. I need to work on myself. That's the only thing that can bring relief. The only answer in the wilderness. Take the plank out of your own eye before you begin ranting about the speck of dust in others'eyes. I'm feeling old; looking old, all from lack of yoga and lack of exercise. Lot's of stress as well. I won't let it eat me anymore. You have no flow, young man. If there's one thing you can work on it's flow. Going around and talking to many women doing many things. Learning that there isn't just one or two ways of doing things; there are millions and trillions of different ways.
I'm so tired of being average at everything I put my hand to including writing this and telling myself
It'll be okay in the morning when I feel like a fraud. I'm so tired of not having a decent job or a place to call my own, or any prospects for the future. Of giving people my laptop and they don't respect it and they don't fix it completely. Of reading books all day with no answers in them and getting no replies from women. Of getting older and worn down and losing energy by the year. I want to settle down before any of this carries on, but the day won't stop running on. My mother keeps getting sicker and I keep getting older and I keep losing more energy. The girl I love is this side, but my career is that side. What do I make of all of this? Last night I saw myself as a young strong romantic, and this morning all hope seems to have migrated. I wake up with a dream where Robin Sharma tells me; nah, past 30 is too late. That is my inner critic telling me that, not Robin Sharma. That is someone inside of me trying to tell me they know me better than myself. Or maybe it's the devil and I shouldn't cozy up to the devil. The feeling of failure is all around. Now I remember why I do not want to masturbate. Now I remember the facts. Just breaking myself down for an instant high. And look, I cannot do this to myself any longer: Making others to be idiots and I'm the best. It's kinda crippling to my health. I've got to move forward with efficiency and grace. I've got to know my weak points. Living with my mom ain't so grand. She fucked herself up for something so silly that it doesn't even make sense. Yet these are the people we love, and we have to show them grace. These are the ones who matter. Without family we have nothing; we can't trust ourselves. I can't carry on masturbating though, this is going to kill me in the end. These deadly habits, but it's because I'm stressed; and why am I stressed? Because I try to control everyone and everything around me. I don't see it, but I'm like that clingy image of a grandmother that I keep seeing. I am just like that dry, clingy Russie I keep despising. I need to work; need to get a job, but my computer keeps being broken; and it's frustrating. I must take it straight back, otherwise I'm going to freak out again, because the man who works from home needs a computer. The man who works from home is lost without his computer. I feel icky and yuck after last night; being everything I shouldn't have been, and after such a good, wholesome round. Ammunition to keep me humble; to keep me from thinking I'm perfect and everyone else is dirt. Ammunition to help me on my way. I should be relieved and happy, for my goal has been reached: Listen, there's a hell of a good universe next door, let's go. I feel the poet growing within me. I feel the urge to write and to live and to be a free human being where I've been couped up for so long. I got so mad with Cheryl yesterday for asking me why I was taking pictures of flowers; I got so mad and went to my room, and held my head in sorrow. I've got digestive issues and I can't really find a way to cure them. Same as this girl; isn't it cute? An addiction keeps getting me down, keeps ripping me sideways. Keeps making me think I might be insane. An addiction keeps me hoping for more. Keeps saying I can dig myself out. Keeps questioning reality. Too many things on the go. Too much happening and nothing changing. I need to get healthy again. To slide on a yoga mat. Too much of the cerebral activity with no rest. I need to rest. Recover. These last few weeks have been an ordeal and then some. There has to be hope though; even in these dark corridors, there has to be hope. There must be somewhere to go to find the answers to our impulsive ends. Yesterday I decided that I need new human connections. I need a home; and of course our home is not here; so we have to be tough. I want to be a leader like Darren. I want to look like I have everything under control. I want to have some level of control even as things are falling apart in the world. I want to be a technician. You do what needs to be done and you let the rest handle itself. This is kind of what I've been doing. I see people crumbling around me with no answers in sight, it's rather scary. But do not lose hope; now is an opportunity for me to shine and to show courage in the heart of darkness. As everyone else fades and wilts away, I must remain strong. I can't write to her again. The one truth overrides the other. I can't write to her again, I must write to her again. The one truth cancels out the other and doesn't stand any longer. I have to feel my way toward sanity first. Feel my way toward the opening that let's me breath. I don't know why I am often so afraid of water. We spend so much of out time under water, and so many years holding back our feelings and our dreams. We feel like we're drowning most of the time and then the release; Then the moment where we're sanctified, vindicated, where anything feels possible. I have these moments a lot too. Last night I was looking at myself as some beautiful renaissance child. This morning I wake up with a horrible dream and in that dream someone telling me I'm no good at 30. Someone has got to be taken at face value. Who is this intruder? This imp? He is not the real Rob Sherma! And doesn't he know that everything is malleable in this life? That we're given so many opportunities and so many gifts and that we're infinite? One day can change everything says God, so who is this fake Rob Sherma to tell me my fortune? We have so much potential the two of us: We have rough edges, we have things that make us difficult to get along with, but we have a sense of respect and we understand love, and nothing can be better than that. The thing that's eating my respect for women is my masturbation habit. It has to be stopped. It leaves me waking up unambitious; unfeeling; dead. I've got to get moving and give up this habit for good. I know I can. It's a part of me that I think I'm in control of but most times, when it comes it's in control of me. I ask that God deals with it in the best way possible, because I can't go on backtracking on my promises to myself and to others and most of all my God. I have messed up so many times, but in all of this there is hope and a thin cord of light in the darkness: I am not perfect, and I must remember this. I am not perfect, and God is the only perfect one, and I must seek his example if I am to be saved. I must run after God, not after man and all his promises. I am a fader in the world of perfection always a fader, but not a failure in the broader sense. He has redeemed me forever from failure, and this I will never be. This is not the end, my beautiful friend. I will have many more successful battles, and Cheryl is right: I need to listen to my heart. No more head thinking. No more thinking that my logic is in control. There are people with feelings and worlds I haven't even begun to understand. There are people I am yet to meet and careers that I haven't even dreamt of. Let us not place all our faith in the future, but rather let us be healthy and centered on God and His values. Madmen have come and gone, but that is not our fate. I want to live in the light. I want to know what I'm doing. The light let's me know what I'm doing. The darkness keeps me running up and down from pleasure to pleasure and nervous tension and release, and nothing gets accomplished. I am tired of hoochie mamas and their big legs sticking out. I need to think of solid women and what that means. I don't want the legs and no woman. I want all woman and some legs, but not all legs and no product. You have to live and you have to give, and you have to let Jesus wrestle them out of the way. It's a terrible thing to wake up so early in the morning to a computer. There must be a better way, otherwise I'll just have to throw it in a river somewhere. Black people have the answer. Who is more sobreminded than a black guy like Joel Kalipi. He is a man about town. He has respect and love in his heart for others. He has shown me through is kindness what it means to be a man. These other insipid whites like Rodney Hanson are a lesser strain. They don't make any sense at all. No humilty, just lies piled on lies. Just egoes fluttering in the wind and an insipid voice to go along with it. Maybe that's what people want though? Insipid men who have no direction in life. At least, as my mother would say, he went for what he wanted. He didn't hold back on his dreams or belief in himself. He was also gifted this in school though. I had to fight for mine. No one wanted to know my troubles. I'd come back home and build my own world from fantasy. Many tmes masturbation. Many times the wrong kind of thing. I need to work on myself. That's the only thing that can bring relief. The only answer in the wilderness. Take the plank out of your own eye before you begin ranting about the speck of dust in others'eyes. I'm feeling old; looking old, all from lack of yoga and lack of exercise. Lot's of stress as well. I won't let it eat me anymore. You have no flow, young man. If there's one thing you can work on it's flow. Going around and talking to many women doing many things. Learning that there isn't just one or two ways of doing things; there are millions and trillions of different ways.
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