Well, at least right now I am. I’m supposed to be doing my work and I’m doing this instead. It’s because I don’t want to do my work. I figure I did work at home for 20 years and that was enough. I want to enjoy my life, my home and my family. I don’t want anything else to interfere with those things after working hours. And yes, I deserve that.
At what point in life is one satisfied? At what point do we accept who and what we are? That we’ve done what we’re supposed to have done and be over it.
I’d love to say I’m satisfied. But life is like being in a candy store. There’s always a brightly colored new sweet dangling in front of me and it’s distracting. Isn’t that the point? Are we really supposed to waste time convincing ourselves that THIS is all there is? Of course I know everything’s relative, but my satisfaction has nothing to do with having more in a tangible sense. It’s more about having an opportunity to (insert a dissertation here).
I don’t know which end is up. I don’t know who I am any more, nor what I’m supposed to do.
I’m sure someone out there can tell me this is really all randomness. That all this energy put into trying to figure things out is just a waste of time. In fact, I’m sure there are hundreds who have written books about it. They end up on Oprah and are famous for a minute or two. And then they end up like the rest of us.
It’s really not pathetic. I just feel like I’m supposed to think that because I want to beat others to the punch.
Nothing makes sense.
Actually, everything always makes sense, and I’m tired of it.
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