taking my time but it's time that I'm wasting

I am not an especially smart person.

I know I speak well, I belive I'm a decent writer, and I at least meet the standard when it comes to most things in my life. But smart? Surely not brilliant. I don't really have any marketable skills (out in the *real* world) and there's nothing I'm exceptional at, except maybe at being mediocre. But still, I get by. Even being painfully average, I've found a purpose at Dix that makes me happy (for the most part... and not counting the immense guilt...) and so my life is small, but shiny.

But if I were brilliant - it would almost be an insult to the universe to squander it, to have nothing to show but this little existence that I have to work at to keep spinning. Embarrassing. I wish I were brilliant, that I knew more about politics, that I understood the state of the world a little more, that I could build something beautiful with my hands. Some of this I can work on, but at the end of the day, all I've got is what I was born with. I can't cook, I get bored easily, I'm no good at cars, sports are only vaguely interesting to me, I'm not particularly creative, computers/technology/whatever is overwhelming and foreign. I've got nothing. Do you know how depressing that is?

I don't know where I'm going with this. I'm sitting alone in my hotel room in Atlanta, slightly drunk, and sad. I don't know how to talk to you.

"how many times can I break til I shatter?
over the line, can't define what I'm after...
I always turn the car around."

- O.A.R. "Shattered" -