Fuck
I hate the way that my life is turning out. Seriously. Think about all the things that I've done; Fathered a child. Bada bing. Is that seriously all that there is out there for me? Don't misunderstand me; I dearly love my daughter. Watching her grow and play makes me much happier than anything else. But really, why couldn't I've done something else too? Such as, why didn't I go to Berklee like I dreamed? Please, don't fill me that insignificant bullshit that "There's still time, go and do it!"...Okay, so how many kids do you have? Or do you know how hard it is to just up and say "Fuck it"? Simply put, I dare you to find something more difficult. Do it.
So it comes down to a simple, yet complex, observation. (Stay) Make a laughingly pathetic mockery of anything that can be called a "living". Scraping by and barely making any real imprint in life. (Explore) Find something that you can call a career and enjoy exactly what you do and find a path that fits you. Wake up everyday welcoming the day. But at the same time, you probably won't be able to provide for your daughter. Then what the fuck do you do then genius?
It's all bullshit really. No matter where I go, what I do, who I'm with or where I'm headed, I'm remaining still. I could leave this place behind, or stick around, but would I really wind up being much better off? Pathetic.
But what really pisses me off is that I'm not "alone". Okay. I don't come home every day in the most pleasant mood, I admit that. Neither do I come home day after day in a pissed off mood. But whenever I try to offer a solution to our money crises, it's always the response of "I know", or "What do you want me to do about it?" Seriously? Fucking help me out here. I work, I come home, I clean up, take out the garbage, do the dishes, and still find time to spend time with my daughter. Why the fuck can't stuff get done while I'm at work? I love my daughter and I know she isn't that much of a handful. Put her down, let her nap, and go about your business. Come on, it's not that fucking hard. But, for some damn reason, she gets where I'm coming from when I say I'm overwhelmed. Really? I don't fucking think so.
Remember when we were younger? When everything kind of made sense, but then again, it kinda didn't? When dreams and hopes were still untouchable, nearly attainable, possibilities? I miss it. Hell I even miss the pain! I miss longing for someone who didn't care. I don't miss the person, but the magical synapse and emotion of caring so much, and needing. Now it's merely going through the motions. Get up. Work. Eat. Shit. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. There isn't that hope anymore...
I remember them. I remember the ones that didn't work out and fell away. I remember only the best times, and I think that's the way that we all are. We focus on the best, to forget the worst, and pine for it all the same. I see the memories fly by in my dreams, and behind closed eyes, I remain happy. When they open, and I see that the fiction has faded in the morning light, I grow depressed once again.
...In time, I hope to make sense, and I hope to move past it all. Someone, somewhere, give me love. Give me heart. Give me a reason to be pathetically and hopelessly romantic again. I miss it. I miss then. I miss me.
So it comes down to a simple, yet complex, observation. (Stay) Make a laughingly pathetic mockery of anything that can be called a "living". Scraping by and barely making any real imprint in life. (Explore) Find something that you can call a career and enjoy exactly what you do and find a path that fits you. Wake up everyday welcoming the day. But at the same time, you probably won't be able to provide for your daughter. Then what the fuck do you do then genius?
It's all bullshit really. No matter where I go, what I do, who I'm with or where I'm headed, I'm remaining still. I could leave this place behind, or stick around, but would I really wind up being much better off? Pathetic.
But what really pisses me off is that I'm not "alone". Okay. I don't come home every day in the most pleasant mood, I admit that. Neither do I come home day after day in a pissed off mood. But whenever I try to offer a solution to our money crises, it's always the response of "I know", or "What do you want me to do about it?" Seriously? Fucking help me out here. I work, I come home, I clean up, take out the garbage, do the dishes, and still find time to spend time with my daughter. Why the fuck can't stuff get done while I'm at work? I love my daughter and I know she isn't that much of a handful. Put her down, let her nap, and go about your business. Come on, it's not that fucking hard. But, for some damn reason, she gets where I'm coming from when I say I'm overwhelmed. Really? I don't fucking think so.
Remember when we were younger? When everything kind of made sense, but then again, it kinda didn't? When dreams and hopes were still untouchable, nearly attainable, possibilities? I miss it. Hell I even miss the pain! I miss longing for someone who didn't care. I don't miss the person, but the magical synapse and emotion of caring so much, and needing. Now it's merely going through the motions. Get up. Work. Eat. Shit. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. There isn't that hope anymore...
I remember them. I remember the ones that didn't work out and fell away. I remember only the best times, and I think that's the way that we all are. We focus on the best, to forget the worst, and pine for it all the same. I see the memories fly by in my dreams, and behind closed eyes, I remain happy. When they open, and I see that the fiction has faded in the morning light, I grow depressed once again.
...In time, I hope to make sense, and I hope to move past it all. Someone, somewhere, give me love. Give me heart. Give me a reason to be pathetically and hopelessly romantic again. I miss it. I miss then. I miss me.