sometimes vancouver, in all its gorgeous entirety, can feel so restricting. at times i feel like i’m being pulled into an endless cycle of stress, thinking, more stress, and more thinking. and it detaches me from everything what would seemingly keep me happy. i am content but not happy. there’s a slight difference between the two but it appears gigantic in distance as the disadvantages of being plain old content slaps you in the face like a wet dishrag, leaving you with that awful sticky feeling of residual crud on your face that you just cannot wash off. that’s what being content is like; it’s as if you’re settling for what you have now and settling for average when you know you can achieve more than all of that medial crapolla.

well, perhaps i simply cannot overleap that pile of medial crapolla. i think that most of the time — i cannot do anything greater than i have already, i cannot be anything more than i am at this present time in my petty life. and life is indeed petty. ugh.

i go through these dry spells when i’m forced to sit down at my desk or lay on my bed just thinking about where i’m going to be in five years, ten years, twenty years… and then i think, “fuck it. this is only time in my life where i’ll acutally have time to experience things for myself. not for my mom, not for my future children or husband — but for me.” and then the happiness that i’ve coveted all of that day suddenly rests upon my shoulders and i allow myself a slight smile. but it quickly fades into the next morning as my alarm goes off, awakening me for another day of pointless drudgery.