self pity

Sometimes I really get bogged down by all the things I cannot accept. I find I can't quite seem to wrap my head around the idea that for the entirety of the foreseeable future I will have to be at work, doing largely nothing, five days a week. Never mind that I can't see the future any further in front of me than the reach of my arm. And every year that passes, the time I have to be me, to actually live, feels more and more condensed. And I try so hard, too hard, to fill every waking moment with activity, friends, "fun" things. To the point where it ceases to be fun and becomes an obligation- something I have to do otherwise I'm "wasting" my life. And I see what my former classmates are doing (I really shouldn't look), and even if I mostly don't want to be doing what they are, I can't help but to feel a little morose abut how everything has washed out.

I guess I just always thought that there was more in store for me. An inflated sense of self-importance perhaps. Too many compliments when I was a child. When expectations are too high, you're basically guaranteed to crash and burn. A dead-end 9 to 5 feels like a car crash in excruciatingly slow motion. There's no sense of purpose or accomplishment, no sense of anything at all really. It's like I go into a state of stasis for 8 hours a day, Monday through Friday.

I don't really dream of anything anymore, well not how you're supposed to anyways. I dream of feeling love, I dream of feeling free someday. I long only for feelings now. I don't have it in me any more to hope for certain outcomes, to wish for all those personal milestones they tell you to. My dreams in waking life mirror those that come in sleep- wrapped in sensations far out of proportion to reality and entirely unconcerned with the tangible.