Failure Again

I started to practice writing with a pencil. It took me a bit to be able to hold the pencil with my fingers, for one is just bone and the pencil kept slipping from between them. After a particular round of failures one day, another bout of depressive and hopeless thoughts rallied against my psyche. I resolved to never touch a pencil again. What use is there in a pencil anyway? Thwarted again. I found another pencil one day. It was supposed to be my salvation out from my mind, yet it brought me only pain, and I avoided the area of the library where I had left it like a coward. All the better I suppose, for I had yet to open a book. With my phone dead and no knowledge of why, and my confidence in using a pencil shot, I had little else to do but begin what I had come here to do – read. But where to start? Did it matter? Why do I ask such rhetorical questions? Here, let's start here at that book on that shelf just in front of me. With this book here; "An Introduction to the Dewey Decimal System."

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