Maybe I expect too much, but I really wouldn't say it's that. Perhaps I have changed; perhaps it is others; I really am not sure, and I don't even know if it is relevant. I just feel this massive disillusionment, a disappointment with many people and things around me, and a sense that all is not as it should be. About all I can recognise is that this society of ours is not suited to me; I don't belong in it and I would never desire to become accustomed to it. I guess part of what I feel involves loneliness and a sense of homelessness and a desire to genuinely belong. What's beginning to scare me is that Sam (and others) would appear to be right - I am becoming a hermit. At one point during my pacing, I thought about how I would be so happy in my own house, just me by myself, free from society and commitment, able to lose myself in my books and knowledge. That scares me. I love human interaction; I haven't had enough of it, and at the end of the day, humans were not made to be solitary creatures hiding in their own worlds. I know I could not live long like that anyway.
Hmm. I really don't know what it is, or how to put what I'm feeling into any sort of descriptive language. I look outside, and I feel this sadness and disappointment; I see what I consider to be the masterwork of God, but as I keep looking and thinking, I realise it is defaced and disfigured, contorted out of shape and not appearing as it should. I feel like there's something more, something missing, and I feel both disillusioned and disappointed because ... I guess because the life I know is not as it should be. I don't know. Words just aren't working for me today, and I can't really get them to convey the emotions or thoughts that I want them to. Nonetheless, I feel sad and disappointed for a broad number of reasons, and I am wondering where it all went wrong. I've gone from "A door is open, you're standing there, you let me in" (Gloria) to "God's got his phone off the hook, would he even pick up if he could?" (If God Will Send His Angels) The enthusiasm of Beautiful Day has died and been replaced by the isolation and desolation of Bad.
Macbeth had a point, but in the end, Kierkegaard was right.