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I spend more time than I would like trying to forget that I’m unsatisfied with where I am right now.

Some of that is when I’m at home, alone, trying to find inspiration or meaning or rest.

Some of it is when I should be working but I can’t bring myself to do it because it feels like dying.

And then I find things, videos of poets with souls filled with pain and anger, that speak to me.

And I sit in my office, as my colleagues go about their business behind me, with one earbud in one ear listening to people like me.

And I write blog posts which look more like poetry.