The more I think about and know the endless soul crushing necessity of money and work and the more I experience the more I hate everything. Pretending to be happy and friendly all day... Dealing with stupid shit and coming home with the knowledge that I must repeat this cycle of hell every day from the majority of my life... Fuck everything
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I find myself wishing in futility quite often that I could just be a wild animal and not be cursed with the sort of deep level of consciousness that causes us to actually think about the process in which our lives are lived and how they will end so that I could be free to just do it and have that be that. Survival by instinct. It doesn't feel like a gift or a miracle to experience life so briefly. The more I think about it, the more it seems like some sort of sick joke...doesn't it?
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