Limbo (as a colloquialism) – waiting room of Dr. Death

Had a minor suicidal black cloud envelope my being this week – you know that cold damp cloud that whispers “What are you doing with your life?” “Does this life stimulate you?” “What happened to your dreams?”

I have for some time been aware that my dreams have been pushed aside by my own person for various bad reasons: trying to fulfil the dreams other people have for me; or persuading myself that others need me more than I need myself.

But the main big reason for postponing life has been the alienation I feel in this country, I have repeatedly told myself– I will take a step up dream-ladder as soon as I get out of here. Oopsy-daisy suddenly 2 years have gone by and I am still here, the outline of the ladder of dreams isn’t even visible through the black cloud of self destructiveness.

I have just spent two weeks in Israel of all places and listened to dreams being made and coming true every evening and there the reality of my own inefficiency and lack of motivation slapped me smack bang in the centre of my soul.

It’s time for me to leave the waiting room of Dr Death and make my own music.

By the way does anyone know how to get in touch with Mr Devil?

I need to sell my soul for shitloads of money to finance my dreams.