Writing is my only refuge. Writing and sugar. I immerse myself in a different world, far from everything here, yet so dangerously, vaguely familiar. All the time I'm eating chocolate. Sucking on the sugar as if it was someone to hold, someone to cherish. And just... writing. Sighing. Feeling like a crapload of shit about life.
What happened to everything I dreamed of? And why does it feel like I'm just wasting my life? I have many things to be happy for, but I just can't be. Something is just wrong with me.
And are we really lazy? Like Dad says?
I think something's seriously fucked with our generation. Before us, people worked like hell and never complained. We work half of their efforts, and get tired, burnt out, and collapse. Why?
Are we supposed to find meaning in this life? Are we shocked when we find that there is none?
Maybe it's just that we don't see the point in the old lifestyle, and the one we choose for ourselves is mocked by the older ones, and I can see why. We don't know where we're going. We have no idea. We makebelieve that we're a notch better than our folks, cause at least we got as far as to the point where we know something's not right about our lives.
But we're still a notch behind them, cause we have no clue whatsoever what to do about it.
POET in the DEPRESSED GLASS JAR
PS. Why is everything so much worse after having something that's the greatest thing ever? DS.
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For Dust And Memories