I’ve grown out too far; the paths in my mind all leading out into the thicket, without proper signage or clearing. My cabin lost among the trails, without a clear direction to the resources I demand. Trail management wont solve this problem. No, regrowth and time are needed. Wrong turns are far too easy to make, and the entire ecosystem lacks critical cohesion.

But where to plant the trees I once cut?

Worse, I need to foster that feeling inside the cabin again, that feeling of unconstrained creativity and possibility. I need fewer distractions and fewer broken tools. I need only what I need, nothing more.

Garbage are the boxes filled with amusements left unamused. Garbage is the TV which fails to play a DVD or album without intervention. Garbage are the artworks left unhung, staring at my from the floor. The environment feels cluttered, yet bare. The exact opposite of the cozy and full life I once lived.

Somehow in the last decade, I’ve collected a life I cannot manage to upkeep. Yet I’m too sentimental and nostalgic to tear it away and begin anew. The bits I’ve disposed of, I’ve regretted, because I haven’t managed to replace them. So am I stuck without the feeling of optimistic survivalist I once had? Am I cursed to be surrounded by broken feelings and dreams?