Variation Two

As the days mount, I find myself growing further from the habit of writing, which I still conclude is going to be my saving grace. How can I keep this thought intact?

I consume art from the time I log on to the time I log off, watching movies that aren't quite my thing. Immersed in things which neither move me forward, or bring humanity any closer to the horizon.

I say closer to the horizon not in the sense of the horizon having a fixed dimension, but the fact that I cannot see any farther in the metaphorical sense, than I could had I not watched anything at all.

I spend the day walking in place. It's like I wasn't born to this life - it's alien - and nothing makes sense any more.