I hate it. It implies that I am trapped in some sort of viscous future that refuses to let you go forth and multiply into different diverse paths.

Why am I being so cryptic? Because too many paths branch out from one decision and I am sick of mapping all of them out, trying to figure out the tangled devastating consequences of each.

Things are really messed up these days. It's very bad if I keep reliving odd dreams at night and feel so sorry for myself all the time that a few of my voices have given up on me.

Oh yes, I hear voices in my head. Voice One, Voice Two and numbered precisely or haphazardly. One doesn't try to inquire too deeply into the various specifics of each voice if one wants to remain somewhat sane.

Oh and when I drag out my collection of tarot cards in a vain attempt to stave off this premonition of impending disaster... it means the situation is moving towards a stage where I feel that I have no control over the situation.

Humans have this prospensity towards the divine, someone or something above them to sort things out for them. A belief in something higher or something better. Optimism.

Oh and I am not that far gone as to not realise that I always start the year off in a flare of bubbly optimism, and the second half of the year in a slow spiral into the danger zone of depression.

And to think that I started off June in such a decisive controlled move. I decided that I would enter the teaching profession when I was done with university. I do not wish to go into the tedious details that went into that decision, but it will be sufficient to say that I gave it a lot of thought and the epiphany struck me while I was in the shower.

Quite symbolic if you think about it.

It isn't really a calling, more like self-realisation that teaching is a profession I will probably be able to excel in and give my best. Even if it is somewhat prosiac and dull compared to my bubble-pink dreams I had entertained.

But that was June.

I keep dreaming of goldfish in a bag or in a bowl and of pouring ice into their containers. Sometimes I set them free at the beach into the sea that is somehow situated in my room. The goldfish do not die but lie there gasping pathetically, fluttering their fins. They are actually quite pretty with delicate translucent fins and pale pink bodies with the faintest sheen of gold.

In the language of dreams, goldfish represent ephemeral pleasures; ice the destruction or futility of some labour or thing. So what are my nebulous forbidden pleasures and what is it that my subconscious is trying to convey in such convoluted messages?

I fear that the answers I have may not be the answer that really is. And that everything is tinted pale pink or monstrous green.

Like in Minority Report, with the rampant eye motif, and that famous famous line, which is used in that movie. "In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king." I wish I have at least an eye. Right now I am stumbling alone in the dark.

Come to think of it... I think my goldfish were blind goldfish.