Today I walked to the end of the dock where I am staying and I smoked a joint. I turned on my music, and I took in the scenery, laughing about how unusually easy my life ended up being. I mean that, too. I used to think life was so fucking hard. Maybe things were hard for a while, but I’m sure my anger and my undeveloped frontal cortex probably didn’t do me any favors.
So many decisions fall on you in your 20s, and you’re just left to clean up the fucking mess after that. If you’re rich, maybe somebody cleans up for you. If you’re hot, maybe you get out by being a trophy spouse. Then again, some people make better decisions. Some people get places through working hard and having goals. Not everyone is self-sabotaging.
Tiptoeing around my hometown the way I have been doing has been nice, but it has also solidified that I need to gather myself for the next big play. There’s no place for me here long-term. This is a nice, padded cell, so whenever I’ve worked out all of my shit I’m going to re-enter the world and try and start my future with my patient mermaid wife.
Okay, stupid. I love you.