The most picturesque spot near where I live has now twice been the scene of one of those long, serious conversations about (my) life that may sound like a good idea for a book or movie, but in reality have left me feeling gutted. This last time, it's probably because it reminds that even so many years after the first torture, things haven't brightened up, and people take notice of that. My companion this last time suggested, in the nicest possible way, that all this mental turmoil might just be ego. In the strictest sense he's right, but I feel it's off-target in spirit. What makes me feel particularly bad is the sense that the person who came here hoping to put an end to whatever uncertainty and unhappiness there was in the past life has been fundamentally let down. Not by anyone or anything in particular, and not entirely self-blamelessly, but it's unarguable that circumstances have not worked out as they should or ought. My shortcomings pried open for all the world to see, how is it that I have kept on going? I ask myself but have no answer. Sometimes it makes sense to embrace emptiness.

Nearly each person of significance in my immediate environment has shown this week a capacity to tremendously disappoint, and leave me feeling more isolated than ever. There was a time when I was confident of my judgements of people and their characters, but now I am not very sure. If I am right, and these people, who found a way into my heart, turn out to be not worth relying upon in times of need, what good does this bode? It could be that it's me who is the common problem in each situation, I grant you. But does that make the future look any better?