Optimistic Nihilism
I do not feel blessed, or even proud--Just lucky. Due to whatever arrangement of life experiences, variably easy or painful; because of a questionably divine luck-of-the-draw family tree; in compensation for my established crosses-to-bear; the possibly random alignment in cosmos has given me a power that will be forever undefined for my conclusion to all things is luck. More importantly, I have a control, however unconscious, of this exciting power. I am constantly proved that to "trust my gut" is actually more rational than emotional. How fucking relaxing it is to know that despite my depression, loneliness, and fear, a bell will ring and remind me to stand up. I will then stop thinking and start doing. This reflex is essentially unconscious which only revives my faith in circumstance.
Despite my anxiety, I have bitter nail polish on my once-tortured fingers, prohibiting indulgence. There are yoga classes scheduled on my planner amongst prospects of extra curricular academia. Yesterday, I gulped a glass of merlot in preperation to do something bold (mostly just for the sake of doing something bold) and was not disheartened when that action had little avail.
In the future, I will lose this power, find it again, and misplace it. In the meantime, I'll do something meaningful. Because I can. Because I got fucking lucky.
Despite my anxiety, I have bitter nail polish on my once-tortured fingers, prohibiting indulgence. There are yoga classes scheduled on my planner amongst prospects of extra curricular academia. Yesterday, I gulped a glass of merlot in preperation to do something bold (mostly just for the sake of doing something bold) and was not disheartened when that action had little avail.
In the future, I will lose this power, find it again, and misplace it. In the meantime, I'll do something meaningful. Because I can. Because I got fucking lucky.