Checkered Flag

Experiencing emotional problems. Again. Have diagnosed self with Full-Scale Burnout. [Note: link is worth reading for clarification.] Am worried that people will misinterpret diagnosis and believe I am a race-car driver. Believe I could be very sucessful race-car driver, but is forbidden by Patrick. Upon condsideration, think many of my emotional problems stem directly from not being a race-car drver. For example, getting dressed would be easier if my only choice was a corporate-sponsored unitard. Likewise, my helmet would be very authoritative; could also be used to smash things such as potatoes.

Moving away from the subject of race-car driving, am worried that life may be pointless. Not so much everyone's, but my own specifically. Without clear objective or purpose. Few promises of advancement on even an intellectual level. Am failure, probably. In addition, coping skills seem specious at best. Clear explanation emerges: objective must be not writing. Am dramatic success! Thinking of throwing in the towel and becoming a professor of something, precisely because I don't want to and therefore could not be disappointed.

[Addendum: Am, however, greatly heartened by reappearence of dear and surly friend.]