We second-guess our instincts. We lie so often, with such subconscious consistency, that the mask wears in, and through a thousand fractures moves like real skin. We construct narratives to feel better about ourselves, because we are all desperate, lost creatures, starving.

I have lost the will to pretend. I have looked into my heart of hearts. I see the void starring back at me.

I will do anything to survive in a cut-throat career field.

I tell myself that I will only deceive, but with my back up against a wall I will lie. I tell myself that I will only cut corners if it is necessary, but I do it all the time, to save time. I tell myself that I have integrity, but if push came to shove I would slit its throat for the right kind of gain. I have no real honor, no true guiding morality, and certainly not a sense of abiding lawfulness. I have cast a stone into the abyss of my ambition, and I know sooner or later that I will be figuratively crucified.

I hold onto petty hatreds out of pride.

The people at my work are meat. I am consumed by hatred for the ones who get in the way of my career, who question me, who disrespect me. I tell myself that I will get even with them, even as I sidestep my real emotions to act the way I am expected. My boss is an imbecile. I would cherish his death. I will make sure I sabotage his career discreetly before I leave.

I am not a sociopath, but I am detached.

I try to give a damn about others when it is not convenient for me, and I am left wanting. Unless the people in question can directly benefit me, my ego, or some other aspect, they do not occur to me. I fetish people into things that are no longer whatever they are, but a series of gears and switches that happen to make talking sounds. My wife has friends whom I have less regard for than squirrels I see in trees. She talks about maintaining contact with her current best friend, to facilitate our boys maintaining a friendship--and the thought bothers me, bothers me because they bother me, and I silently pray that time, distance, and circumstance will geld this idea.

I cannot see the good in me.

I fail myself at every turn. I barely pull it out of the fire. I lost my wife's wallet because I assumed she retook it after I grasped a bunch of items, but had no real memory of the event. My memory fails me left and right. I live with a sick fear of losing my mind and see it happening. I am not certain how I got to this point. I know exactly where I am going, but what is the purpose? I live for simple pleasures. I keep telling myself that if I can do it for just a little longer, I will reach an event horizon where even if I explode, and I am barely useful or not at all, it will not matter.

Tenure. Maybe it will be tenure. Maybe I can function normally that long. Maybe.

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