Orchid Sangria, Part Two

It's like life has lost all it's depth: there is no plot anymore, and the story keeps going, pushed by something undefinable yet tireless. I am responsible for my current position, of that I'm sure, but I don't know why, or when, or where it supervised my construction of change. Candid, I presume, is the mixed feelings of confusion and a shade of other emotions. I am the dictator of a large country, limited by the edges of my consciousness. Time isn't a river, it's more like green jello.