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I’m tired of giving you examples of times
where I have said things I’d later regret.
This is the last time I’ll admit
to having periods of self doubt,
feeling sorry for myself.
I’ve spent the last four years making new best friends who,
after a few more months, I won’t ever see again.
I’m so damn sorry that I fucked up.
And despite all my best efforts to analyze
the minds of great writers by studying the words they once wrote,
I’m no closer to cracking Joyce than I am myself.
Is it always like this, or is it in my head?
I’m sorry for everything.

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