I feel fine. Fine. It should be simple but it isn't. It's what I feel when I don't know what I'm feeling. It's what I feel when I don't want to think.
I'm supposed to be busy. I'm supposed to be productive. I'm supposed to be working. Success is just ahead, if I were to only try. But on the hike of success is the quicksand of vice. And I always fall in. Willingly.
I feel so guilty. Guilt for that willingness and guilt for the failure to succeed. So my hike of success has become a nightmare of guilt. Naturally, to avoid the nightmares I avoid the hike.
So that's what I mean by "fine". I'm fine so long as I can stick my head in the sand and pretend that I'm not pursued by the consuming predator, self-guilt.