Continued. . . “Everything I do embarrasses me to no end. That’s where the story begins:”

This is the continuation of what I aspire to be.  It is at this time that I begin to realize what success really means and that is: being better, knowing more, and essentially outliving your competition.

I couldn’t wait to get started again. I wouldn’t sit
long enough to let it sink in about what a failure I’ve
become. I think that if I move fast enough, I’ll never
really know. . .
I wish that I had a proper target to aim for and wouldn’t
it be a mess if I shot something that moved? I’m not
trying to kill. I’m just trying to improve my vision, my
aim combined with my intense restrain of reason. I’m
beginning with nothing but time blended with minor
skills. It’s the wad of cash in my pocket all bunched
together in a mixed and mangled mess with bits of
change and a receipt stuck in the middle. I don’t know
how much is there. Enough to reach in and buy back
some guts right now, spending it on a ticket for another
bet that I’m sure I won’t win. It’s all about going too
far. . . But I’m too far gone to turn back now,
burrowing into the depths of desperation and hysteria to
find one last dime, another hour so I can continue with
my brigade, my mission, my curse to temporarily
satisfy my needs. Now, it’s like an addiction. I used to
think that this is what I’ve always wanted to be. It
never occurred to me that I’d have to be it without the
glory, without the gain. I’ve minored in life’s tragedy
with a major in self remorse. Everything I do
embarrasses me to no end.
That’s where the story begins:

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