and when this happens one of two things can be guaranteed. i subconsiously begin sabotaging the very fragile life of routine and structure ive methodically created for myself with some distant delusion that destroying it will bring forth some kind of new life to me. but it doesnt and usually i get depressed and painstakingly start all over. OR. I become extremely proactive/ creative/ ambitious/ passionate/ driven etc., so that i can bring myself one step closer to the unattainable goal of self satisfaction by mastering some new kick i find myself running after. but you know what. however unattainable- i like to think of myself as a better person in the end.
that being said. im constantly trying to make myself happy and its fuckin useless. ugh. or im just a pyscho bipolar maniac whos just writing this cause he’s not doing anything with his time at the moment and that makes him ultra uncomfortable because he knows there are things out there that should be conquered and owned.
and all girls are completely the same… except one. and i havent met her.
rich. real fuckin rich.
William Dare 