NeedyI scarcely write any more, although that, like all things, could be temporary. It's just my thoughts seem so scattered and useless. I feel I am done complaining. Now it is what it is and there's nothing I can do about it. I disagree with existentialists who say that the chief feature of the human condition is alienation; it seems to me it is powerlessness.
Yesterday, I was looking after Zenella. I didn't say much to her and she didn't say much to me. I'm not good at being with her. I'm not good at being a father: I didn't like it as much as I thought I would and most of the time I feel like I'm doing it wrong. Most of the time I just want to apologise to them. Even though life just happened to me, couldn't I have done something different? Couldn't I have sacrificed more?
Well, that's the problem. It's not any lack of ability, as such. It's lack of knowing what to do. And how can you undo any of what is done? No one else wants it undone. Everyone else seems content that you should dwell like this, hopeless, aimless, endless. You are left needy in a world that demands self-reliance.