Inadaequatio rerum ad intellectum(?)

I should stop writing in languages I don't know, but I thought this was a rather fierce\savage\deadly pun, whichever of these causes less vomit to tickle the throat w its upward trickle. But that is the truth. I spend all night fondly fantasising about all these great social interactions ima rock like a madman, then poorly slept an odd word shatters my fragile emotions. Real splurge of anxiety thruout day. Reading on psychoanalysis. Scary; we don't want to know ourselves. We have no foundations. We don't think, in order not to die. The repressed. The problem is, I think, that having given myself a goal even the possibility of the attainment of which lies necessarily beyond my control, I find myself thwarted when luck doesn't fall. I'm old; the skills I seek should have been learnt long ago. Among my classmates it's second nature.
Bleh. The anxiety like a pimple has cleared up somewhat. The key is: don't give up hope; luck may arrive - punctuation should be used ----------------( and the dash should be just as long as old Soren's) sparingly.