I once believe nothing was ineffable. Everything could be expressed if explored properly, with language developed. I believed humans to be creatures of logic and reason, and applications of the intellect couple explain everything. I've spent years now, finding the words that encapsulate me, the center of my being. But I've come to see now, I've failed. There is a point where language fails to describe the complexity of the human spirit. I feel myself there, right now. I am blinded by my discontent, alone in a house full of friends and potential friends, scrabbling to fit myself into the world. I've set myself adrift by losing the anchor of my dependence, and I cannot see the shores I expected. My humor keeps me afloat, but it does not make me swim. Comedy, which has been a core that I have held onto so tightly through years where I felt oblivion just a heartbeat away, is nothing more than another facade, a layer constructed to foster an illusion of control. I'm not sure what is real anymore, and here is where I am ineffable. I am frightened beyond words to describe it. I face the emptiness within, and I know my ego is false. I won't find what I want in financial independence, anymore than I believed I would find purpose in being a social animal. Who am I? What do I do know? These people are all around me, and I don't know how to tell them how I feel. I don't know what I feel myself. When I bawled my eyes out beginning of last week, shredded by the rejection and frustration in my job search, doubting my own worth, I think I spilled out more of myself than I knew. Maybe I really began to look at where I was in my life, and the stuff of my life began to fall away. Yet, I still mistrust myself, that I am seeking to be discontent, to find specific and ordinary reasons for it, and punish myself for it. So even that offers no strength. What I enjoy offers me no solace. I act not because I desire to, but because I do what I always have known. There is an immanent sense of nowness. But why does it feel like a doom? The stupidest cliche is we always get what we ask for. I always wanted answers. If I had these answers, everything would make sense and I would know some kind of peace. Now I know I do want peace, but I'm not sure even what the questions are.

tomorrow I call for a job interview in the morning, and I will read the Sunday job section over tea, but after that I think I might go visit a Buddhist temple or monastery.

Book VI, Analect 17: "The Master says, 'Who can go out without using the door? Why, then, does no one follow this Way?'"
Analects of Confucius