Nowadays I feel that my mind is so cluttered with thoughts and such that I cannot collect myself and become coherent. I am a leaf flapping in the wind, a mound of sand unable to hold a shape, a clutter of possessions strewn about a room; my form is controlled by forces external to myself. When did I lose the ability to gather my various pieces and become assembled? It is an irony to be struggling with the very fact of struggling.

I'm beginning to understand why I no longer enjoy television shows, or movies, or video games, or many forms of media entertainment that I once did. There is something false about these mediums, something untrue that I cannot shake, something about fiction, or even nonfiction that I cannot accept. I do not have trouble understanding or immersing myself into any media. What I feel is more a reluctance to do so, an unwillingness to use my time in these pursuits which are meaningless. I can imagine purposefulness or usefulness to these activities, but I cannot find desire or meaning in any of them. Perhaps my ambitions are growing too great for my current station, disallowing me from enjoying any lesser purposes.