You Can('t) Count on Me

I've always abhorred the static tendency of things, but I wasn't counting on retribution 100 times over. Life has been little more than an ongoing revolution these past few weeks, and it's left fingers green with naivety and my mind scattered across countless possible pavements. I have before, I believe, alluded to Plath's idea that when we think we want everything, it is perhaps because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing. That doesn't seem to align with my current situation; rather, I find myself thinking I want everything because I don't believe what I really want exists (in life, in a relationship, in my fucking salad dressing). No one and nothing can walk the fine line if you narrow it to the point it doesn't exist. So perhaps, I shall take the evening to reconsider what I value, in hopes that the day will bring the 3rd act epiphany that probably never comes to those who live on earth. Or perhaps, I'll wander from one town to the next (metaphorically speaking, of course) until I find the clearing (correction: a clearing) that satisfies.