I'll say this now--what you read here, this submission, is not the arrival at any particular apex or pinnacle of lows or highs, simply a place in which there is mind and mind is not.
Basically, in our limited capacities as classified beings and our completely fallible yet boisterous memories of times and things and such limited lifespan, what is such a being (such as you or I) to do with our laudable unwitting yet wistful existence, when the mind can perceptively discriminate and reason critically, to such extents, and yet . . . be unable to maintain any control over 'mood,' or this 'feel' that so many refer?
I have come to a point, and seemingly so completely, that time itself has begun to spew me as its waste. What, then, am I to do?