Most of the time I am overwhelmed by the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing with my life.  When I was younger I was stupid, but I had a lot of dreams.  I wanted to live in Europe and have rich friends and lavish lovers.  I wanted silk robes and diamonds and glass perfume bottles.  I was stupid, but I had a lot of dreams.  Now I don't even know who I am most days.  I'm floundering between black coffee and white wine, crying tears that smear yesterday's mascara like war paint on a pale face.  I don't feel like a warrior.  I take scalding baths to try and purge my body of this sadness that has consumed me but it doesn't work.  Sometimes I try and remember the time when I began this descent into darkness, becoming a shadow as opposed to a light, but it seems as though my happy self was but a past life, a fleeting dream.  I often think of the girl I once knew who wanted to line in Europe and have rich friends and lavish lovers.  She wanted silk robes and diamonds and glass perfume bottles.  She was stupid, but at least she had dreams.