It is tiring to fend off wave after wave of lambasts, situation after situation that begs to be dealt with, a war that offers no respite. Life is a war with death, a violent affair whose means is the end.
I am getting sick and disgusted with everything that I do. Every molecule in my body is crying for the respite that never seems to come, every cell is begging for rest that will probably arrive only with death. I face onslaughts, deluges every day. My energy is being drained with age and stress. I face the ultimate entropy of my self. I face the cessation of everything I hold dear. It can't go on anymore.
Everything calls for attention, this job that I hold. Everything calls for details, and I am too stretched to do that. I am no longer competent in the post that I hold. I am on the verge. But who cares.
It is that terminal stagnation that frightens me. It is that inexorable degeneration into the lay that frightens me. When I look around and I see the supposedly educated mired in and perpetuating the mesolect of theirs, it frightens me. Is that their idea of linguistic competency? I shudder still.
This is an age of the exercise of linguistic freedom and plurality. It is an age of the postmodern where Stalinistic control over the linguistic domain is regressive and abhorred, if not a downright apostasy.
I will not rot in that place. Period.
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