Something weighty, selfish

I scurry around like a frightened little mouse some days, jumpy and unsure, guilt-ridden for little reason and ashamed enough to slink into corners. Other days are better, the dim morning glow through the stubborn layer of relentless cloud cover bringing a glimmer of opalescence to an otherwise bleak beginning. Yet I tell myself, the loneliness is merely symptomatic; if only false promises were enough hope to lean on.

Where do I get off? There are things that shouldn’t matter, yet they seep into the porous spots of your self-esteem and worm themselves deeply, cementing their own roots, and pretty soon a shitty statistics grade turns into the embodiment of your self-loathing. Seems silly doesn’t it? I can assure you it is. I look at medical students, graduate students, and wonder in awe at their successes, truly believing I am an terrible pupil and will never know such achievement. Pray I am not slinging bagels and taking other people’s money for the rest of my life.

I stood on the roof of a fort perched on a mountaintop and looked out over the San Juan islands, and marveled at the expanse of greatness, that which was there before me and will continue to be so long after I am gone. …and at once I knew I was not magnificent/high above the highway aisle/(jagged vacance, thick with ice)/I could see for miles, miles, miles