Though no less potent than a single--nay, a double!
So, I'm gonna be dead, someday. Irrevocably, and possibly soon.
Why am I not having fun?
If I was told that I would die one day from now, I'd feel cheated, horrified. I'd probably spend the time I have left crying, or just cut my wrists to get the whole mess out of the way.
Twenty-eight years, down the drain. Most of them spent in various degrees of unhappiness.
So why am I not having fun?
It's not a rhetorical question--I have no idea why live sucks so hard. Or what I can do to change that. I hate my job, but what are the odds of having a job I like? One that pays me in more than self-satisfaction and peace of mind?
Because of an over exposure to them through my job, I don't particularly care for people, in general. You don't judge a society by the way it treats its prisoners, but by the way it treats its customer service representatives. And how I've judged. . . .
I hate the town I live in. I mean, it's not a shit hole . . . if you don't know any better. And I do. I know a lot better. I grew up in the greatest city in the world, and I've been relegated to this backwater for just a little over three years.
The city I want to live in is the entire continent away, and my savings consists of roughly $200.
So, I guess the reasons I'm not having fun are obvious: I hate where I live, 98% of the people I come in contact with, and most days I have to fight not to walk out of my job. I never seem to have any money and the odds of me getting to the one place I'm pretty sure I could attempt real happiness, and before I turn thirty, are laughable.
It's starting to feel like I'm gonna die miserable, and alone. Although the upshot of that is, I won't regret the dying and there'll be no one pestering me during.
Okay, why, again, am I not having fun?
"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt