Write something, write something, write something.
Something beyond this daily routine, not doldrums, no, love my job, but monotony is lethal and this world this place is monotonous.
Writing isn’t a panacea now is it but the words go somewhere or they sit, fetal thoughts in my head, resurfacing, reminding me that some people do more more more more and what do I do, I sit here, supporting this government behemoth indirectly without any ability to make change to it, I’m successful, I feed off and thrive off my success but fulfillment lives somewhere else. Run on.
I love with ferocity but never found the heart to hate even when I should, but I feel…deadened. Have, ever since, going through motions sometimes but I love, I do. Its not tragic screaming yelling need hate love passion so is it not love? Ridiculous notion and I’m damaged and this is love not that.
Must make a difference but differences don’t pay well now do they and the place I live sucks money admirably. Seven hundred square feet I pay too much for each one and somehow they hold..nothing, offer no structure for an organized life, just exist, and I exist within the walls, just…existing.
Whine whine whine I’ve got everything I need, success that was so recently beyond my dreams and has now become commonplace because really, this success is monetary and the praise comes for doing a job well done to support a machine I have minimal faith in. Money can’t buy love nor happiness, but I have both. I whine whine but my life is so good, so sweet, I don’t want more money more things, noone else, I want…satisfaction. Meaning. Calm. I can see it and feel it and I taste it often and its good and I’m almost there and look at that, writing made me scoff at my frustrations and now…I’m good again.