The fog of now

The time where I live is exceedingly strange.
The things I can do and can have, you would think,
would make my life wonderful, powerful, lovely;
So many new things, and as fast as a blink.
But as soon as I've seen or I've touched or I've tried
a new gadget or service or film or such stuff
The strangeness of now is upon me like fog
and the fabulous bleaches, the wonder is gone and
my new things are still not
(I do not know why not)
(can't seem to quite grasp)
(I'm sure just last month I'd have been so impressed)
enough.

Progressing

Walking backward toward the future,
gazing back at where I've come;
cannot see where I am going;
must be why I act so dumb.