Between the present and my ambition, somewhere in the world of hope, lay my own sanity awkwardly resting on a ridiculously thin string. It is at rest because I have refused to allow myself to think too much about 'What if?'. Far below is a chasm of darkness. I'm not sure what's actually down there. Maybe it is utter nothingness, a sense of loss and a wandering without reason, not knowing who I am or why I'm there. Maybe it's hell. Either way, I don't want to find out. So, my sanity sits there on the string, not moving backward, and also not moving forward toward my ambition. It isn't stuck. As I said, it's resting. Resting. Waiting, I suppose.
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