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cellomusettemaybe ranting a little will make me feel better.
you know what? just because i have a steady job, good income and a new car, doesn't mean SHIT. i might as well just set it all on fire, because none of it is making me happy. i don't think i even know how to be happy. it all leads back to the fact that life is not the sum of the money you make and the goals you have. it only survives via this intangible thing, a feeling of contentment, that i've had for fleeting moments in my existence.
what did i bother working so hard for? i did all i did because i thought i had to in order to survive. i got everything i thought i wanted, and now i've lost anything i had that i needed to be happy. i almost wish i were dead. i mean, what's the fucking point? whenever i meet interesting people, they disappear anyway.
i'm sick of being alone and stranded out here. it's already been three weeks and i'm not enjoying the adjustment. i dare say i don't even like eastern mass. i don't relate to anyone anymore. and i'm pissed off, because people who haven't worked even 30 percent as hard as i have over the past couple of years are happier than i am. do you think i give a fucking rat's ass about money? money doesn't buy personal connections. i don't even fit in with my new social class. everyone around me is "normal," and i just feel like a punk-ass gutter freak wherever i go. i'm goddamn sick of it. do i think it's funny when i put on my ripped jeans and jane's addiction teeshirt and slide into my 2002 Chevy? i used to, but i don't anymore. now i just feel like a huge misfit.
so a big fuck-you to all the slackers out there who think i'm a real bitch because of whatever things i have. you can fucking take them, and shove them up your ass for all i care.
you know what? just because i have a steady job, good income and a new car, doesn't mean SHIT. i might as well just set it all on fire, because none of it is making me happy. i don't think i even know how to be happy. it all leads back to the fact that life is not the sum of the money you make and the goals you have. it only survives via this intangible thing, a feeling of contentment, that i've had for fleeting moments in my existence.
what did i bother working so hard for? i did all i did because i thought i had to in order to survive. i got everything i thought i wanted, and now i've lost anything i had that i needed to be happy. i almost wish i were dead. i mean, what's the fucking point? whenever i meet interesting people, they disappear anyway.
i'm sick of being alone and stranded out here. it's already been three weeks and i'm not enjoying the adjustment. i dare say i don't even like eastern mass. i don't relate to anyone anymore. and i'm pissed off, because people who haven't worked even 30 percent as hard as i have over the past couple of years are happier than i am. do you think i give a fucking rat's ass about money? money doesn't buy personal connections. i don't even fit in with my new social class. everyone around me is "normal," and i just feel like a punk-ass gutter freak wherever i go. i'm goddamn sick of it. do i think it's funny when i put on my ripped jeans and jane's addiction teeshirt and slide into my 2002 Chevy? i used to, but i don't anymore. now i just feel like a huge misfit.
so a big fuck-you to all the slackers out there who think i'm a real bitch because of whatever things i have. you can fucking take them, and shove them up your ass for all i care.
