I know I've whined excessively about what a failure I am and how it began with dropping out of school. Partly it's because it's true, and partly, I imagine because of the generic zoloft. Last night I decided the problem I was having wasn't that I was short of breath, it's that I was worried about being short of breath. I decided to look for brand Zoloft. I rooted around in the cupboard like an addict looking for his fix. Well, I don't know about "like" an addict, but anyway I found some and took it.
Bingo! This morning I was short of breath and realized I've been short of breath for years, forever really. My doctor (who has moved again!) was right 20 years ago; it's tension, tension that's been relieved for the last few years by the zoloft. Now, I need to figure out how to get real zoloft when I just got a 90 day supply of generic that's probably really lead coated sugar from China.
Anyway, to get back to the original topic of this post, I'm a college drop-out failure. Big deal. I'm not the college drop-out that's on the cover of the September Atlantic Monthly under the heading, "Lessons of a Failed Presidency". That's auto-didact Karl Rove. If only he had embraced failure as a youth. Together they could have had a life of quiet desperation, but no. Like a spurned love, failure waited for him biding its time until vaulting ambition became a mouthful of ashes. Like it always does.