You see yourself, a gilded one
glide upon a waving plain
The centre of, and all disdain
But fear and fall, and pick-it-up
Toss the lot and sham dismay
You'll take the morning
But you perish the day.

I have been all those things and all at the same time as well as not at the same time.

Or grasping at straws. It's one of those days.