A fog (thank god for chords)

These are the days when I want to give it all up, start over anew in every part of my life. Which of course instantly reveals its own lies, since the reason things are so hard to bear is that they are so dear. You can only truly hate what you love, since you must know it best. Words make this no easier to endure. The uncertainty, the fear, the despair, the hope of solace. Everyone gives their opinion and I know I must keep my own counsel, but the conflicting ideas are overwhelming. There is no way to avoid a betrayal of some sort, which gives rise to the worst type of choice. If only, if only we had the ability of prior retrospection to choose properly. Who can say what is most important to value now, since every decision we make in the next week will tweak our future options and relationships? We cannot know. We can only hope, guess, dream, become lost in the strains of the twelve-string. What shall be our hymenic?