Desperate for a win. I’m persistently frustrated by mundane things. I constantly feel dejected and find myself thinking “What a waste of time.” I feel that I have a lot to be dispirited about and ashamed of and little to be excited about and proud of. I’m sick of things not changing and not going my way. The disparity between where I am and where I ought to be is an itch that never goes way. The longer I bide my time, the wider and more vertiginous the gap appears. The only way across is a one-rope bridge, and I can neither muster the stamina nor courage to cross it.