Settling down here, is it possible? I’m just letting the days pass, not really feeling like this is it. What’s my life supposed to be? My goals, to start my own company and later, take on teaching at the university. Is that to be my future, here in this city? In this apartment? I love this city, it’s probably the most beautiful city in the world. But what it has in beauty, it lacks in people. I just feel like the people here are cold and distant, myself included. Why is it so hard to meet people, interesting people, and show them who I really am? And who am I? It feels like there are layers in me that never get shown, that I’m unable to show. That the world wouldn’t even try to understand, and certainly not appreciate. I’ve been lulled by the beauty and the possibilities; I’m trapped. Am I supposed to create a life here in this city, to find a girl, marry her, and have children? Maybe buy a house and all that? I don't want that chase to go on anymore. Afraid of ending up old and alone and missing all those things, I can't really let it go.
It feels like I should be writing stories, or drawing paintings. But what about? I used to like making up stories and drawing intricate puzzles. It’s lost, my imagination dried out. Instead, I sit here with the machine that has managed to keep me captivated for such a long time, the one that made it so easy for me to have a career. It’s been too easy. Everything has been a straight line, I didn’t have to do anything. Just play around with the machine: here’s your future. And your past. Why waste your knowledge?
I should explore the depth inside of me, hoping to find some gleaming nuggets and not too many balls of lead, and hopefully, and most scariest, not just nothing. Preferably, something that would lead me on my way. What way? The way to happiness, I guess. To feeling content, somewhere to fit in. Feeling appreciated and understood. A way out of loneliness.
Sorry for the LC-esque ramblings, even though he's a pretty smart guy he tends to write wall of texts. And so did I.
It feels like I should be writing stories, or drawing paintings. But what about? I used to like making up stories and drawing intricate puzzles. It’s lost, my imagination dried out. Instead, I sit here with the machine that has managed to keep me captivated for such a long time, the one that made it so easy for me to have a career. It’s been too easy. Everything has been a straight line, I didn’t have to do anything. Just play around with the machine: here’s your future. And your past. Why waste your knowledge?
I should explore the depth inside of me, hoping to find some gleaming nuggets and not too many balls of lead, and hopefully, and most scariest, not just nothing. Preferably, something that would lead me on my way. What way? The way to happiness, I guess. To feeling content, somewhere to fit in. Feeling appreciated and understood. A way out of loneliness.
Sorry for the LC-esque ramblings, even though he's a pretty smart guy he tends to write wall of texts. And so did I.