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You know when you get deeply depressed since you can’t learn to write a sonnet on the subject “birch vodka”. Yeah the thing is, one, that one literature magazine now takes in manuses of poems about food. Two, At the same time there’s a poetry contests that only accept poetry on bound verse. Three one attendants in the course I take now, want to produce and sell birch vodka. And if I wrote a sonnet about birch vodka, I could send it to both the magasin and the contest. Birch vodka is a product unique enough to stand out. But yeah, I’m not good enough to be even close to write a sonnet. Plus interesting enough, the only word that rhymes on “vodka” seems to be the far east Russian town: “Nakhodka”.

I didn’t use the word “depressed” lightly previously. Pathetic enough it's painful that I can’t “follow my dreams". That all my life I have experienced daydreams as holly. Dreems handled out, not something I have chosen myself. Something I can’t change. Failed dreams and aging -> depression. I’m a middle aged guy, that is in itself pathetic and painful. There's no medicine against being old and bitter. And sure if I was a better writer, this should have been a better written posts.