I feel I ride upon so much life potential, even at the age of 47, but I am trapped in circumstances where all this potential is backing up upon me, and destroying me. Sometimes I feel my only hope is for somebody to place me somewhere else and give me a suitable function, for I myself not only lack initiative, I often lack mind, entirely. Too many early morning awakenings, where pacing in mindless anguish continues for lack of any thing other than the going thing–pacing in mindless anguish. Only later on, in the evening, it dawns on me all the things I might have done earlier but which I could not have done earlier for the insidiousness of the disease. And the cycle repeats itself. Even if I write down things to do upon early morning awakening, I am unable to remember to find the note to read it, for the morning misery has already swallowed me upon awakening.