Without.

I have spent my day furiously trying to edit essays for college applications, and while I suppose I could be worse off, this hasn't left me in the best state. Not content with writing a cookie cutter essay waxing poetic on the gloriousness that is my granny/first pet/second cousin Albert, I singlehandedly chose to delve into the deep grove of my soul and pull out what might or might not be meaning. And as if the process of applying to colleges were not frazzling enough, the fact of this alone would be enough to unhinge me.

I don't regret writing the essays, exactly, but the subjects are so difficult for me that even thinking about them makes me dizzy.

Words are like pieces of a puzzle to me. I don't know that I have any concrete control over them, but it is only as I locate and rearrange my words that I begin to find my own meaning. Too few and I am blank, too many and I am furiously scribbling in margins already filled. Balance and I are either unacquainted or jolly well pissed off with one another.

I really don't want to muse on life and bewilderment right now, but this is all I can find. I wish I could feel within myself that everything will be fine.

It has never been fine. It will be fine, but it has never been fine.